


Watching from on High

by DyslexicSquirrel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, I’m not tagging what kinds, Just know that Steve gets dicked, Light BDSM, M/M, Minor Character Death, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Slow Burn, Top Bucky Barnes, Torture, cause I’m being lazy, there’s smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-07-19 14:10:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19975369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyslexicSquirrel/pseuds/DyslexicSquirrel
Summary: Bucky knows he shouldn’t be watching Steve, but he’s never been a good man.





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from I Know Your Secrets by Katie Garfield (which btw is on the Cloak and Dagger soundtrack for season 2). 
> 
> Concept came after I found a meme that said “Somedays, you just really need a good hitman.”

The breeze carried a hint of rain, the smell of the Hudson. New York City had smells and sounds unique to itself. He hadn’t been back in this city in too many years to count. Hadn’t planned on staying more than a few weeks at most to finish his last contract. As a rule, he didn’t stay in one place for more than a month, no matter what. He’d left Belgrade hidden in the back of a truck, bullet wound in his gut slowly bleeding despite the bandages packed in it and his left eye slowly swelling shut just to keep on the move. 

The wind blew hair in his eyes, the concrete below him leeching warmth from his skin, but he didn’t move. He was breaking all kinds of rules these days. All because of some skinny kid. 

He wasn’t a  _ kid _ , really. According to his birth certificate he was a very legal twenty-one, but the kid was younger than  _ him _ by a good ten years. He should leave him alone. Tell him to close his goddamn blinds first, but he should leave him alone. 

Except he couldn’t. Steven Grant Rogers was making Bucky throw all his training down a drain with a garbage disposal. 

Don’t stay in one place too long. 

Don’t be memorable; blend in.

Don’t get involved in anything besides the job.

Don’t form attachments. 

And those were just some of the ones he’d disregarded. 

Bucky had been there for two months, he’d had to get rid of the body of a guy he hadn’t been paid to kill, and maybe it wasn’t an attachment in the traditional sense when he was more or less stalking this kid, but he felt responsible for him now. And watching him was the one selfish thing he’d done in… fuck, he didn’t even know. 

It wasn’t about a paycheck or fulfilling his obligations or about anything other than he wanted to do it so he did. 

It had started with the sound of breaking glass and raised voices. Fucking walls of the shithole apartment he’d holed up in while tracking his latest target had paper thin walls. He’d only opened his door to tell them to shut the hell up, except once he caught sight of his scrawny, little twink of a neighbor cradling his arm with a bruise already forming on the pale skin of his cheek, blood staining the dark blond hair at his temple, while some brawny asshole grabbed his chin before hissing something in his ear and storming off, well, Bucky hadn’t stepped back inside his apartment.

He didn’t lock his door, go back to cleaning his rifle and sharpening his knives. Didn’t review his plans for taking out his next target so he could get paid and get out of there, on to the next temporary shithole with paper thin walls, the next target, the next payday. Didn’t make sure his newest documents with a fake name were in order for him to make a quick get away. 

Bucky instead found himself turning his eyes toward the kid and  _ speaking.  _ “Boyfriend?” He’d almost asked if it was his John, though he was maybe too pretty and healthy looking to be a hooker (could have been an escort), but boyfriend seemed less offensive and made the kid pause in the process of closing his door with his uninjured arm, the one he was favoring wrapped around his chest. 

He looked at Bucky curiously through the crack between the door and the jamb, sizing him up. Whether he (stupidly) thought Bucky wasn’t a threat or figured if Bucky wanted to hurt him there was nothing he could do to stop him, he sighed, ruffling the blond hair falling over his brow, and propped his shoulder against the jamb. “Nah. Ex who won’t take a hint.” 

His eyes flicked to the stairs the ex stomped off down moments ago then back to the kid. “You tell the cops?” 

He gets a snort and an eye roll in return. “No point. If they even cared that a gay man is getting knocked around by his ex, all they’ll do is give me a restraining order, which is useless because I’d be dead by the time they got here when Brock violates it.” 

When, not if. Bucky nodded slowly. Good, no cops meant that if Brock turned up missing, they might not look too closely at the kid. Especially if their breakup was common knowledge. Wouldn’t have mattered either way. Bucky could make it look like he skipped town. “You don’t need to worry about him anymore.” 

The kid frowned, confusion filling his bright blue eyes. Eyes the color of a sky he remembered staring up at during another life, when he was another person, who didn’t have blood on his hands so deep underneath his skin it wouldn’t wash away. He wasn’t a good person. Wasn’t disillusioned enough to think even this would make him one, but it was something. Maybe. 

“What do you mean?” 

Bucky went back inside his apartment without answering. It took a day to ensure the ex never bothered the kid again. He should have left it at that. Instead he found himself on the roof of a building across the street with a perfect line of sight into Steve’s apartment. 

Steve who lowered his blinds (sometimes) but hardly ever closed the slats. Steve who liked to walk around his apartment after his showers in a silk robe so short it barely covered his ass. Steve who didn’t have enough of a sense of self preservation to make sure no one could see inside his bedroom when he got changed. Steve who wasn’t aware a stranger was now familiar with every inch of his body right down to the birthmark on his hip. 

Who didn’t know his neighbor was an assassin who killed his ex boyfriend, slowly, before dissolving his body in acid. 

The phone in Bucky’s back pocket vibrated and he pulled his eye away from the scope long enough to read the message.  _ Have another job for you.  _ He flipped the burner shut and slid it back into his pocket without replying. His go-between would know something was up soon, but he didn’t care. He put his eye back to the long range scope, squinting the other. It was his new favorite time of day. Steve always did yoga when he got home from work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! I appreciate all kudos and comments. They seriously keep me motivated to write. ❤️ 
> 
> I post updates, WIP ideas, and reblog mostly MCU stuff on tumblr: Dyslexicsquirrel


	2. Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... shit. I WAS NOT GOING TO WRITE THIS YET. I was going to leave it for now and not give myself another series to write. Is anyone else laughing at my naivety? Just me? 
> 
> I upped the rating and added an archive warning for graphic violence. Take that seriously.

The sound blood made dripping onto plastic was one that Bucky was familiar with. The liquid splash underlaid by crinkling. The laboured breathing and pained grunts that accompanied it were familiar, too. The man zip tied to the chair was bleeding from multiple cuts on his arms and torso, stripped bare of the shirt he’d had on when Bucky grabbed him and shoved him into the trunk of his car. They were shallow, but the guy was already sniveling like a little bitch. 

Brock Rumlow was one of those men who liked to dish it out, but couldn’t take it. Had a rap sheet a mile long full of petty violence, all against people weaker than himself. Bucky wouldn’t lose any sleep over ridding the world of this asshole. Still shouldn’t be doing it, but it wasn’t the kidnapping, torture and eventual killing that was the problem. 

It was the  _ reason _ he was here, in this abandoned warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen, that was the issue. The blonde hair, blue eyed, pretty reason, who apparently had shit taste in men if this piece of shit was any indication. 

Bucky absentmindedly twirled the knife in his hand, elbows propped on his knees, legs spread, watching Rumlow struggle from where he sat in the shadows. 

“What the fuck do you want?” Rumlow asked for what felt like the hundredth time. Only thing all the squirming and tugging and straining was succeeding in doing was making him bleed more, the  _ drip crinkle _ of his blood hitting the tarp echoing in the almost empty space, and Bucky rolled his eyes at the theatrics. “Just tell me what it is and I’ll give it to you!” 

Pathetic. Hadn’t even really gotten started yet and he was begging already. Too bad Bucky didn’t actually want anything but suffering from him. Would have been one of his easier jobs, that was for sure. 

_ Except it isn’t a job, remember? _ He thought, jaw clenching, fingers tightening around the handle of his knife.  _ You’re not getting paid for this. What do you expect to get, huh? Think pretty boy is going to get down on his knees and show his appreciation for you dismembering his ex?  _

Well, jokes on you, he told the taunting voice in his head, standing from the chair, making noise on purpose because he enjoyed the way Rumlow’s head jerked around trying to spot him in the gloom. Dismembering was far too messy and time consuming. There were easier ways to make a body disappear. Of course, that wasn’t to say that Rumlow wouldn’t be short a few body parts when Bucky shoved his corpse in the oil drum he had waiting to slowly dissolve until there wasn’t enough of him left to identify. 

Bucky came to a stop in front of Rumlow. Guy tried to put up a good front of glaring and sneering, but Bucky could see the fear lurking, more so when he pressed the tip of his knive against his sternum, with just enough pressure to break the skin, and slowly dragged it down, watching Rumlow dispassionately. “I don’t want anything from you, Brock.” 

“Then what the fuck is this about?” Rumlow leaned forward, to get in Bucky’s face, but he just looked dumb because it drove the knife tip deeper into his skin and he sat back with a wince. “I don’t even know who you are! I’ve never done anything to you.” 

“To me? No. But you’ve done things to other people, haven’t you?” 

“Is that what this is about?” His eyes darted back and forth, no doubt sifting through all the people he might have pissed off lately. “Whoever it was, I promise you, they deserved it.” 

Bucky lifted the knife and tapped it against the side of Rumlow’s face. He flinched. Slowly, Bucky bent until they were eye level, let Rumlow see the coldness in the depth of his. Then he asked him one question. The way he answered would determine how the few short hours he had left to live would go. “Did Steve deserve it?”

Rumlow’s eyes flared, face twisting. “What did that little slut tell you? He’s a lying piece of shit and what he’s paying you, I can double it.” 

Bucky clicked his tongue in disappointment, enjoying Rumlow’s flinch more than he probably should. He gripped Rumlow’s hair, yanked his head back, and moved the knife to rest against the lower lid of his right eye. “Oh, he’s not paying me. I’m doing this for free.” 

Rumlow’s screams bounced off the concrete walls, echoing around them, until his voice went hoarse and he petered off into pathetic whimpers. Bucky always thought shoving a knife into someone’s eye felt like piercing a grape.

When he was done, once Rumlow was still and quiet, Bucky stood back and stared at the cooling corpse dispassionately. He used Rumlow’s shirt to wipe his blade clean after cutting the zip ties since he needed to get rid of it anyway. He picked the oil drum up and set it down next to the tarp. Close enough that he wouldn’t have too far to heft Rumlow’s dead weight, careful to not put it on top of the tarp. He could just fold the tarp up, along with all of Rumlow’s body fluids—besides the blood the man had pissed himself at some point—and the pieces of him Bucky had cut off, and shove it into the drum to melt away along with Rumlow. 

He turned back to the body and sighed. Fuck, he hated this part. Best get it over with before he had to deal with the stench of piss  _ and  _ shit. That had been a lesson he learned fast. He didn’t always have clean up, usually his jobs entailed nothing more than picking off a target from a distance, single bullet to the head. But sometimes the client wanted a more hands on approach, needed information or to make sure that some didn’t get to people they didn’t want it to. Sometimes the client just wanted the target to suffer. It never mattered because Bucky did his job and he did it well. Quietly, efficiently, just the way his handlers taught him to. 

Bucky has to shut his eyes for a moment and just stands there breathing in the air that stank of death and blood and fear. Something else he’s intimately acquainted with. Don’t think about it, he tells himself.  _ Just get this done and get out of here. Move on.  _

Bucky cracks his neck and cleans up the mess he made. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘K, so as with all my fics, I make no promises about when this will be updated. I obviously have no control over what I wrote or when I write it. I am at the whim of whichever character is talking the loudest. 
> 
> Comment and kudos sometimes influence what I work on also. Hint hint. I luffs them. 
> 
> You can hit me up on tumblr, too. My inbox is always open. @dyslexicsquirrel


	3. Day 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos appreciated ❤️

When Bucky gets to the top of the landing Steve is unlocking his door, and he stops there letting his eyes trace Steve’s body. He’s wearing jeans that hug his skinny legs with rips in the knees—the kind Bucky can never figure out whether they’re supposed to be that way or if they just ripped—and an oversized sweater with sleeves that almost completely cover his hands. He must be coming from somewhere other than work, then, because he’d only seen him wearing khakis and button downs when he came home from work. 

Bucky contemplates and realizes that, right, it’s Saturday. People who work normal nine to fives have off on weekends. 

It’s strange seeing him this close. Except for his daily foray to the roof across the street the last few days, Bucky hadn’t seen him since Rumlow knocked him around. Eyes sliding shut, Bucky forces himself to make noise as he takes a step and Steve jumps a bit, key scrabbling out of the lock and falling to the ground. 

“Oh. Hey.” His eyes are wide, hair a bit mussed probably from the wind outside. He bends to pick his keys up and Bucky tries and fails to not stare at his ass when the sweater lifts enough to uncover it. Does manage to get his eyes back to a neutral spot on the wall when Steve stands back up. He looks like he wants to ask Bucky a question, pink lips parted, and Bucky walks to his own door, hand fisting around his keys, the metal digging into his palm. 

Steve turns to keep him in sight, Bucky tracks the movement from his peripheral. Sticks his key in the lock of his door, casual, like he doesn’t see Steve take a step toward him. He can hear the breath Steve takes before he asks, “Did you talk to Brock?” 

Bucky cants his head a bit to the side, not looking at him, but enough to let Steve know he heard him. Steve takes another step and the lock on Bucky’s door clicks open. He pockets his keys, but doesn’t turn the knob yet like he should. “It’s just… I haven’t seen him in a couple days.” Four day, Bucky thinks. 

“So,” Steve hesitates, playing with the sleeves of his sweater. Bucky turns his head a bit more. The bruise on Steve’s cheek is sickly shades of yellow and green around the edges, purple in the middle, and he wants to kill Rumlow all over again. Least his arms seems to be fine; he woul have been able to do some of those yoga poses otherwise. “So, if you did, say something to him that is, thanks.” Slim shoulders shrug. Blue eyes look at him earnestly. A smile Bucky can’t interpret twists Steve’s lips. “Most people don’t normally give a shit. About someone they don’t know.” 

Bucky pulls his eyes back to the door and pushes it open. The only reply he gives Steve is a grunt. Then he’s inside, the door closed and locked behind him. He lets the air in his lungs out slowly. His hand itches for his rifle so he can go up to the roof across the street and watch Steve, who thanks someone he should be afraid of so sweetly. He’s gonna get himself killed one of these days being so damn nice and Bucky won’t be around to protect him. That thought makes him want to punch a wall. 

He doesn’t. Instead he inhales and holds it until his lungs started to burn and only releases it because his phone rings. He shucks his jacket, moving further into the apartment to toss it on the couch, and pulls the phone from his pocket answering it without looking to see who it is. He already knows. Only two people have the number to this burner and only one of them would call him. 

“What?” His voice is calm, unemotional, but there’s no fooling the person on the other end. 

“What the fuck is going on with you?” Natasha doesn’t sound angry. Her voice is as lacking in inflection as his. Bucky walks over to the windows and pulls one of the blind’s slats down with a finger of his free hand. A flock of pigeons across the way take to the sky and fly off. The blinds snap closed, cutting them off from view. He’s not jealous of a filthy rat with wings. 

“Nothing’s going on,” he tells her, knowing she won’t let it drop. 

“Bullshit. You’ve been ignoring my texts.” 

“I’m…” Bucky drops down onto the couch, runs his hand over his face. “Taking a break.” 

There was a pause, rife with meaning. No one could say so much without uttering a word as Natasha. “We don’t get vacations, James.” 

His eyes are drawn to the case of his SVLK-14S propped against the wall, nothing more than overpriced binoculars with how he had been using it lately. He looks away, letting his head fall against the back of the couch, staring up at the cracks in the stained ceiling. He exhales as softly as he can. He sounds weary when he says, “I know.” 

He can feel the tiredness down to his bones, seeping into the marrow. Could barely remember a time he wasn’t in this life. Everything he was before, whoever that person had been, was beaten out of him until this was all that was left. It hadn’t bothered him, had never kept him up at night. It was his reality. He owed a debt. The fact that he was paid handsomely while he repaid that debt didn’t matter. This was a job he couldn’t walk away or, like Nat said, take a vacation from. 

Bucky had never wanted a break before. A pair of pretty blue eyes and a nice ass and he went soft, forgot who he was. His jaw clenches. “Just give me a couple of days.” 

It wouldn’t fix anything, but maybe he could collect enough of his stolen moments, the glimpses into Steve’s life he took without asking, to last him until he met whatever gruesome end was waiting for him. 

Natasha sighs, sounding frustrated. “I’ll do what I can, but you get your shit together.” 

The line goes dead. He lets his arm drop to the couch. The laugh starts rusty and harsh deep in his chest, a sound his throat isn’t used to making, before it builds, ringing in his ears. It’s humorless and as dark as his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are probably going to be slow for the most part, just because of how this fic is structured. Some of the later ones might get a bit longer, but I’m not sure. 
> 
> Tumblr: dyslexicsquirrel
> 
> Bucky’s rifle: http://lobaevarms.com/products/svlk-long-range-sniper-rifle/


	4. Day 5 Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are the shit. ❤️ Thank you to everyone who has left them so far.

Bucky has his weapons spread out on the coffee, cleaning them when there was a knock on the door. He hesitates, staring at the panel, slowly setting the barrel of one of his hand guns down on the newspaper covering the cheap wood. He gets up, not bothering with a weapon and checking the peephole even though he has a good idea of who it is. If it was someone pissed off about him failing to report for duty, they wouldn’t knock. And sure enough when he presses his eye to the peephole, he sees the back of a familiar blond head before it turns to look back at the door, and there’s Steve standing outside his apartment, raising his arm to knock again. 

Bucky clenches his jaw, but finds himself unlocking the door, opening it only enough for Steve to see him but not inside. He stares down at the other man, watches him fidget, a pie plate held between his hands. His eyes drop to the pie and back up to Steve’s face. It’s probably polite for him to say something, but he doesn’t. Manners weren’t something he was taught. 

“Uh, hey.” Steve licks his lips, nervous, cheeks coloring. Bucky didn’t know anyone was capable of blushing anymore, the world the way it was, but of course Steve did. Steve hefts the pie up. “I made this for you. As a thank you, even though you didn’t admit to getting Brock off my back.” 

Plausible deniability in case there was someone who gave enough of a shit to report Rumlow missing. He wasn’t going to admit to anything even though local PD wouldn’t be able to find any evidence of foul play, nor be able to track Bucky down once he left if Steve did mention his neighbor who might or might not have had words with him. 

“Maybe I could, um, come in. We could eat it together.” 

Bucky glances off to the side, thinking of everything currently in plain sight that he couldn’t explain to Steve without having to kill him. Should just tell him to leave or, better yet, slam the door in his face. Instead, Bucky steps out into the hall, getting close enough to Steve before the smaller man steps back to get a whiff of his shampoo. Something coconutty. Bucky pulls his keys out and locks his door. “Your place. Mine is… messy.” 

As excuses go it’s not ironclad but Steve smiles up at him. “No problem. I shouldn’t have just dropped by, but I didn’t have your number or anything.” 

What are you doing? A mental voice that sounds a lot like Natasha asks as he follows Steve to his front door and inside his apartment. This is the very opposite of getting his shit together. Covertly watching Steve is one thing, but being in his home? That is dangerous. He still doesn’t leave. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, wandering into the living room while Steve goes over to the open kitchen. 

“Do you want coffee?”

“Sure.” Even though Bucky had seen the place from the outside and knows what it looks like, he looks around anyway. It’s colorful and soft looking. Lived in. Throw pillows, an area rug, a blanket over the back of the couch, bookshelves lined with books and knickknacks and picture frames. The yoga mat is propped in the corner. The place smells nice, too. Like pie, but something under that. Incense, maybe, or candles. Hell, who knows, maybe it’s just Steve.

Charcoal sketches are hung on the wall where the windows are. He hasn’t seen those. He walks closer to one, tilting his head as he studies it. The signature in the corner is hard to read except for the ‘s’ and the ‘r’. He hadn’t realized Steve drew and files it away. Maybe he’ll take one of the sketches before he leaves. Don’t be an idiot, the Natasha in his head snaps. 

“I hope you like apple,” Steve says. Bucky turns and watches him put two plates with a slice of pie on them, napkins and forks, down on his tiny dining room table. 

“It’s fine.” He tracks Steve as he walks back into the kitchen, pulling two mugs from the cabinet. The t-shirt he has on stops at the waist of his jeans, baggy ones that hang low on his hips, and when he stretches up to get the mugs down, the shirt raises, and Bucky catches a glimpse of a lace ruffle. 

Something Bucky had noticed was that Steve didn’t seem to buy into conventions of what were men’s and women’s clothes. Not that Bucky minded. The sight of his ass and his dick covered in tiny panties had almost made him swallow his tongue the first time, but now he just wondered what they felt like. Of course, he knew what lace and satin felt like, but not what it felt like against Steve’s skin. 

“How do you take your coffee?” 

  
  


“Black.” 

“Why am I not surprised?” Steve tosses a smile over his shoulder before pulling the fridge open to pull out a carton of milk and dump some into one of the mugs. Bucky doesn’t answer, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He walks over to where Bucky stands, hands him a mug, and takes a sip from his own. He’s standing close, looking up at Bucky through his lashes and Bucky breathes in slowly, eyes narrowing slightly. 

“I just realized,” Steve says after lowering his mug. “You’re in my apartment and I don’t know your name.” 

He’s a suspicious bastard by nature, but while he thinks Steve is maybe playing some kind of game, it’s not the kind that would end with Bucky dead. Reading people is something Bucky has gotten good at over the years out of necessity, and Steve wants something from him, but he’s also just young and a little naive. Bucky’s not so socially inept that he doesn’t suspect what’s happening, but he’s not going to call Steve on it yet. He likes him like this. 

“Bucky,” he says after a pause. 

Steve’s eyebrows go up, but he doesn’t comment on it. It’s a bit strange, even for a nickname, especially if you don’t know where it comes from, but it’s also safe. No one from his old life is around to remember James Buchanan Barnes went by Bucky and anyone from his new life… well, Nat and his handlers are the only ones who know his real name and there are only a few contacts he trusted enough to have them call him Bucky. 

“Well, I’m Steve. It’s nice to meet you.” He holds his hand out and Bucky stares at it for a minute before pulling his other hand from his pocket and clasping Steve’s smaller hand in his. He squeezes it before relinquishing his grip. Steve’s lips twitch a bit, but he doesn’t comment on that either. He takes a couple steps toward the table, glancing over his shoulder when he realizes Bucky is just standing there drinking his coffee. “Pie’s not gonna eat itself.” 

Bucky sits in one of the mismatched dining chairs and sets his mug down on the table. Watching Steve dig into his pie, Bucky picks up his fork and spears the tines through the tip of his slice. “What are you after?” 

Steve looks up from his plate, eyes wide. He swallows then says, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You didn’t just ask me here for pie.” 

Steve takes another bite of his slice, to buy himself time no doubt, but when he speaks again, his lips are slightly downturned. “To be honest, I wanted to suss you out.” 

Bucky lifts his brows in question, finally taking a bite of the pie in front of him. Only years of hiding his reactions and keeping his face expressionless stops him from groaning. It’s damn good pie. 

Steve slides his plate aside so he can fold his arms on the table. “I’m usually good at telling, but I couldn’t figure out which way you swung.”

Bucky chews slowly, not so much to stall as to savor the food in his mouth, but he leans back in his chair, eyes pinned on Steve. He likes watching him squirm. Not in the way you’d watch a bug you crushed under your shoe. In the way you’d tease someone until they were begging. He takes a sip of coffee before he says, “I swing whatever damn way catches my eyes.” 

“Ah.” He says it with a pleased lilt to his tone, but doesn’t say anything else. Eyes dropping shyly to his plate, Steve pushes crumbs of pie crust around with his fork. 

“What now?” 

Steve’s head jerks up, eyes blinking. “What now, what?”

“What were you planning on doing with that information?” Steve’s blush intensifies, pinking up the skin of his neck, and his tongue peeks out to lick at his lower lip. Bucky doesn’t hide the fact that he’s watching that time. 

“I don’t normally do this,” Steve says, swallowing. It’s such a line, but something tells Bucky that Steve doesn’t mean it as a line. He actually doesn’t normally do this. He’s the exact opposite of Bucky who doesn’t even bother with one-night stands. He fucks, comes, and then leaves. It’s about scratching an itch, taking care of a bodily function just like any other. Usually it was enough. He’d never craved someone like he did Steve. 

“Maybe it’s because I just got out of a relationship and the guy was such a jerk, but I don’t know if—if I can ignore,” he gestures vaguely between them, but Bucky understands what he means. He looks down again, but just for a moment, before his eyes meet Bucky’s again. “And what you did, with Brock. It was just so nice—”

Bucky stands abruptly making the chair scrap across the floor loud enough that Steve stops taking, mouth agape. He plants one hand on the table, the other on the back of Steve’s chair, looming. Steve doesn’t look scared though, damnit. He looks intrigued. Fuck. He’s not dumb enough to come clean about ‘what he did with Brock,’ but he also wants there to be as few misconceptions between them as possible if this goes any further. 

“One thing you need to know about me.” Steve blinks up at him, owlishly, lips still parted. Bucky moves the hand that was resting on the chair and digs his fingers into the hair on the back of Steve’s head. It’s softer than he’d imagined. “I’m not a nice man.” 

Then Bucky claims his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy times is next. This happened a lot sooner than I was expecting lol Horny boys.


	5. Day 5 Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are typos I apologize. It’s 11am and I haven’t slept yet so I’m wondering if I should just stay up or try to sleep. 
> 
> This was the hardest sex scene I’ve written in a while and I’m not sure why cause I could see how it was gonna go in my head? I still don’t think I got it right, but it’s a thing. 
> 
> This chapter is legit just smut. Next chapter will be plotty.

Bucky uses his hold on Steve’s hair to angle his head back, slipping his tongue between Steve’s plush lips when they parted. It was a battle, one Bucky wasn't expecting, for control. One of Steve’s hands gripped his bicep, trying to deepen the kiss, push his own tongue into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky presses Steve back against the chair, pulling his head back further and slowing the pace, because he could, until Steve settles into his hold, coaxing instead of demanding, letting Bucky taste every inch of his mouth. Bucky eases his grip in Steve’s hair, fingers massaging in reward. 

When Steve is sighing and relaxed, hands twined around his neck, Bucky pulls back, nipping at his bottom lip. Steve is flushed and panting, skin abraded from Bucky’s stubble, and it takes a moment before his eyes blink open. He stares up at Bucky dazedly. “Wow.” 

Bucky doesn’t let the smug smirk trying to break free show as he straightens, but does allow himself a caress to the back of Steve’s head when he draws his hand back. “I’ve got some stuff to do, but I’ll come by later.” 

Face scrunched up in adorable confusion (he never thought confusion could be cute before), Steve sits up, blinking. “Later?” He gives Bucky a slow once over, lingering on his fly in a way that had Bucky’s brows climbing his forehead. When Steve reaches his eyes, he nods. “I don’t have anything else to do. I’ll be home.” 

Bucky’s lips thin and he pushes his hair back away from his face. On the one hand, Steve agreeing to let him come back later is what he wants, but on the other Steve just casually telling a stranger he’ll be home all day worries him. He might need to put someone in place to watch Steve when he’s gone. He can’t have his focus pulled in different directions like that, but he also can’t stay. 

“Save me some pie,” he says, heading for the door. 

“See you later. I’ll leave the door unlocked. You can just come in.” 

Bucky jerks to a stop with his hand reaching for the doorknob at that. Steve said it so nonchalantly like it wasn’t a big deal, but Bucky’s eyes narrow and he sees red, turning slowly to stare at him. He couldn’t be serious. Brooklyn Heights wasn’t the worst area, but who left their doors unlocked? What did he think this was, the 40’s? His ex had been here a few days earlier and  _ hit him _ . And he was just going to leave his door open? Steve didn’t know Rumlow was dead. 

Steve doesn’t even notice that Bucky was still in his apartment. Ebows planted on the table, he sipped his coffee and scrolled through his phone. Bucky stalks back to the table on silent feet, despite his heavy boots, and grips Steve’s chin, pulling his face around to scowl down at him. Steve only gets a gasp out before Bucky’s mouth was on his. 

This kiss was brutal, teeth and tongue, and Bucky hears a clatter. Then Steve’s hands are in his hair, a soft moan muffled by the way their lips are pressed together. This wasn’t meant to be enjoyable, though, so Bucky breaks away. It takes more effort than he likes to admit. Still glaring, Bucky leans his forehead against Steve’s, both of them panting. 

“If that door is unlocked when I come back, you won’t like what happens,” he growls, pulling Steve’s lower lip in between his teeth, laving it with his tongue before he releases Steve’s chin. The coffee mug is sideways, spilling its contents across the table, slowly creeping toward Steve’s phone. Bucky picks it up and places it in Steve’s limp hand, curling his fingers around it. 

Bucky leaves, closing the door behind him, but he stays out in the hall until he hears Steve’s lock click. Then he goes to finish cleaning his weapons. 

* * *

Bucky knocks on Steve’s door around eight half expecting it to be unlocked, but he hears the deadbolt slide back before Steve pulls the door open. Bucky hadn’t even been sure what he would have done if Steve had left his door unlocked. He’d been trying to make a point more than anything, but he’s glad he won’t have to pony up on that threat of ‘you won’t like what happens.’ 

“Did you eat?” Steve asks, looking over his shoulder, and heads for the kitchen, leaving Bucky standing in the open doorway. The long length of his bare legs are on display beneath where the hem of an oversized shirt that ends at mid thigh, the neck cut so it drapes off one shoulder. Bucky steps inside and shuts the door, flipping the lock shut without taking his eyes off Steve. “I made dinner earlier.” 

Bucky doesn’t answer, slowly advancing on Steve. Steve opens one of the cabinets to grab a plate, has to stand on his toes to get it and the shirt he’s wearing rides up, revealing the bottom curve of his ass and a piece of lace disappearing between his cheeks. 

“I can make you a plate,” Steve starts saying when Bucky stops behind him. Bucky was a little hungry, hadn’t eaten since that morning after his run. But food was the last thing on his mind after that tantalizing glimpse of the fabric of Steve’s panties and all that the thong  _ wasn’t _ covering. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve from behind, pulling his back against his chest. 

Steve yelps, craning his neck to look up at Bucky. Maybe he would have time to teach Steve some basic self defense before he left because he was woefully unaware of his surroundings. Eyes wide Steve asks, “How do you move that quietly? I didn’t hear you.” 

“Practice.” Bucky moves one hand to rest low on Steve’s abdomen, splaying his fingers. The other hand stops over his left pec, feeling the pebbled nipple against his palm and Steve sucks in a breath. 

“No food then?” Bucky slowly shakes his head. Steve turns in Bucky’s arms, leaving the hand that had been on his belly cupping his ass. Bucky squeezes, finger teasing the lace between Steve’s cheeks. “Just because I don’t want to assume, I’m gonna ask. Top or bottom?” 

Bucky gives him a flat look. “What do you think?” 

Steve huffs. “You don’t have to be an asshole about it. I was just trying to be, I don’t know, polite.” He throws his hands up and let them land against Bucky’s chest. “Usually I know the people I sleep with a little better before hand.” 

Bucky shuffles them foreword, hooks his hands under Steve’s ass, lifting until Steve is perched on the counter and Bucky is standing between his thighs. Insinuating his hands under Steve’s shirt, Bucky pushes it up, up over Steve’s head and down his arms. He lets it drop on the floor. 

“Well, this is unfair,” Steve says, looking down. His cock is hard, straining against the lace of his thong. 

“Not my fault you were half naked already.” Chests pressed together, Steve’s smooth, soft skin and Bucky’s still covered in his own t-shirt, Bucky nips at Steve’s ear, trails his lips down Steve’s neck. He sucks bruising kisses into his skin, Steve arching his neck to give Bucky better access. 

Steve tries to run his fingers through Bucky’s hair, but gets thwarted because Bucky’s hair is up in a messy bun. He’d taken a shower before he came over and his hair had still been damp so he thrown it up the way he did before a mission. Steve works the hair tie free, slipping it around his wrist before plunging his fingers into Bucky’s wet hair. “Are you complaining?” 

“Hell no.” Bucky tongues his clavicle, sucks a nipple into his mouth, and his skin is red everywhere from Bucky’s stubble. Steve’s back arches, hands clenching in his hair, reminding Bucky of all those evenings of watching Steve’s slim body contort while he did yoga and wonders how flexible he really is. Before giving the other nipple the same treatment Bucky says, “And I top, exclusively.” 

“I’m getting that. That’s fine. I’m vers, doesn’t matter to me,” Steve babbles, trying to force Bucky’s head back to the nipple he’d abandoned to scrape his teeth over the skin between Steve’s pecs.

Bucky tugs Steve’s hands from his hair, holding them in Steve’s lap, ignoring the disappointed groan Steve makes when Bucky lifts his mouth from Steve’s skin all together. Holding Steve’s wrists in one hand, Bucky grips Steve’s chin in the other, pinning him with a look. “I’m also in control.” 

“In control how?” Steve doesn’t try to pull free, but he does frowns at him. With Steve sitting on the counter they’re at eye level. 

“You stay where I put you. Think you can handle that?” Bucky wasn’t into whips or cuffs and causing his partners pain didn’t do anything for him, nor did trussing them up. Not that there was anything wrong with that stuff, he’d handcuffed a few people to beds when they asked him to, but he did enough tying people up and causing them pain at work. He liked to keep a strict line between how he did his job and how he fucked. But control wasn’t something he could give up. That would entail dropping his guard and that was something he couldn’t do. 

Steve’s eyes were still a little glassy from pleasure, pupils blown a bit, but he holds Bucky’s gaze steadily when he shrugs. “Only one way to find out.” 

Using the hold he still has on Steve’s chin, Bucky pulls him into a kiss. It’s hot and dirty, leaving Steve panting and squirming. 

“Hold on,” Bucky tells Steve, letting go of his wrists. As soon as Steve’s arms are around his neck, Bucky picks him up and heads for the bedroom. Steve wraps his legs around Bucky’s waist, leaning in to kiss Bucky’s neck. The hard line of Steve’s erection is pressed against Bucky’s abs and he can feel the wetness from the precome leaking from his slit through his shirt. 

He drops Steve unceremoniously on the bed when he reaches it and Steve bounces twice before stilling. Legs splayed, cock pressing against the lace of his panties, pushed up on his elbows, Steve looks like a debauched angel and Bucky stares at him while he toes off his boots and reaches behind his head to strip his shirt off. Bucky is popping open the button on his jeans when Steve gets to his knees, hands reaching for him. Bucky plants a hand on his chest and pushes him back down, leaning over him with one knee on the bed. “Stay. Where I put you.” 

Steve is apparently horrible at following directions, parting his thighs to wrap them around Bucky’s hips, trying to pull Bucky down on top of him so Bucky pulls free of his grip and flips him over. 

“I want to see you,” Steve whines. 

“Stay still and maybe I’ll let you,” Bucky says, lowering the zipper on his jeans. He’s barely putting any pressure on Steve’s shoulder; he could turn back over if he wanted, but he doesn’t. Bucky pulls his hand back and pushes his jeans down. He hadn’t bothered with underwear. “Lube and condoms?” 

Steve points to one of the nightstands, turning his head to watch as Bucky rounds the bed to get them, tossing the bottle of lube and a couple of condoms on the bed. Steve’s brows pop up. “More than one, huh? Someone’s overly confident.” 

He’s smirking when he says it, the punk, and Bucky gives one of his ass cheeks a light smack, enjoying the way it bounces. “Turn over.” 

Steve does so he’s laying perpendicular across the bed, and his eyes that are roaming Bucky’s body widen slightly when he sees the scars. Knives and bullets leave their mark. The patterns they’ve left all over his skin tell the story of the life he’s lived. Bucky wraps his hand around one of Steve’s ankles and tugs him closer. Steve asks, “Were you in the military or something?” 

“Or something,” Bucky tells him, getting on the bed on his knees, looming over Steve’s prone form. He cups Steve’s hips, pushing the tips of his thumbs under the waistband of his thong. 

Steve wants to ask more, Bucky can see it on his face, but he bites his lip instead and drops his eyes to Bucky’s cock, hard and point out from his body. “Oh,” Steve murmurs in surprise. “I’ve never been with anyone who was uncircumcised before.” 

“It gonna be a problem?” He runs his hands up Steve’s sides. Most of the men and women he’s been with in the past didn’t care, they just liked that he was big and told them what to do. But most of them weren’t American, either.

“No.” Steve arches into his touch. “Just makes me want a closer look.” He starts to reach for Bucky’s dick, but pauses. His eyes flick up. “Can I?” 

“You’re learning.” Bucky smirks and Steve rolls his eyes. “Have at it.” 

Steve doesn’t touch him right away, distracted by Bucky licking one of his nipples, taking it between his teeth. He groans, hand wrapping his hand around Bucky’s erection. His fingers just barely wrap all the way around. “This wasn’t really what I had in mind.” 

“What did you have in mind?”

Bucky’s breath against Steve’s nipple, wet from Bucky’s mouth, makes Steve gasp, the other man’s hand tightening on his cock. “I was thinking about something involving my mouth.” 

“Later,” Bucky says, dragging his tongue down Steve’s chest, over his ribs, nipping his hip where that birthmark is. Steve can’t reach his dick anymore, but that’s just as well. Steve’s hand felt too good. He’d been half hard since he left Steve’s apartment earlier. 

“Seriously overconfident,” Steve says, breath stuttering in his chest when Bucky’s tongue licks over the lace covering his cock. 

“Nope.” He hooks his fingers under the lace and peels it off Steve’s cock. It’s laying against his pelvis, flushed red, wet at the tip. Bucky ignores it in favor of peeling Steve’s panties off. Tossing them aside, Bucky gets back on the bed and pulls Steve’s lower half into his lap. He gives Steve’s cock a stroke, rolled his balls across his palm, devouring the way Steve’s hips roll, how his eyes go hand lidded. Bucky presses the thumb of one hand into the valley between Steve’s cheeks and Steve presses into it. His other hand reaches for the lube. When he pops the top, Steve spreads his legs wider. “Look at you being greedy.” 

“Well, you’re hot.” He gasps when Bucky lets some of the lube dribble down his crack, groans when Bucky rubs it over his hole with his thumb. “And that kiss earlier was—”

He breaks off when Bucky’s thumb breeches his hole, thrusting in and out, tugging at his rim. “It was what?” 

“So good,” Steve breathes, trying to get more of Bucky’s thumb, and he doesn’t know if Steve is talking about the kiss or what’s in his ass and Bucky doesn’t care. Steve reaches down to palm his own dick and Bucky takes his hand, pressing it to the mattress. Teeth bared, Steve says, “Either stop teasing me or let me touch my dick.”

“You’re not very good at this,” Bucky growls, leaning over him. 

Steve huffs a laugh that chokes off when Bucky replaces his thumb with more lube and two of his fingers. “I haven’t heard that since I blew Kevin Green under the bleachers in high school.” 

Bucky adds another finger, earning another groan from Steve, and he keeps his eyes on where they’re disappearing. Steve’s hole is all pink and stretched around his fingers, his hips working in tandem to fuck them in deeper. Fuck, he was tight. Idly, Bucky asks, “Have you ever been fisted?”

Steve’s eyes, which had slid shut somewhere between the second and third finger, pop open, pushing up on his elbows. He sounds hoarse when he asks, “What?” 

Bucky shushes him, running his free hand down Steve’s chest to encourage him to lay back down. “Just curious.” He didn’t have the right stuff anyway. The lube Steve had wouldn’t be enough. 

“No,” Steve allows himself to be pushed flat, swallowing a little nervously, but Bucky noticed the way his hole clenched and his dick twitched. Part of him was curious. Too bad Bucky wouldn’t get to convince him to try. 

“You’d look amazing like that. Hole stretched out to take my hand. Your skin all flushed.” Bucky keeps his fingers thrusting, spreading them occasionally to work Steve open. Bucky moves so he could speak directly into his ear. “It’s just like a big plug. You’ve had one of those up this pretty, little ass haven’t you?” 

“Bucky.” Steve’s thighs were clamped around him, hands clenching the sheets. “Please.”

“Answer the question.” He curves his fingers, pressing them against Steve’s prostate and Steve jolts. 

“Yes,” he pants. 

“I can’t do it right now. Can’t show how greedy your hole would be, but I can give you my dick.”

“Oh, God.” 

“Do you want it?” He licks the shell of Steve’s ear. 

“Yes. Fuck, please.” 

Bucky grabs the condom, rip the package open with his teeth, and rolls it on one handed. He slips his fingers free, presses the head of his cock against Steve’s entrance. Leaning over Steve again, Bucky fists his hair and kisses him, slowly sinking inside. The choice between watching Steve’s hole suck his cock in or claiming his lips had been hard, but the temptation of his mouth had been too much. The way he moans and whimpers into Bucky’s mouth make it worth missing the sight of his dick bottoming out. Steve wrenches his mouth away, thighs pressing firmly to Bucky’s hips. “Jesus mother of fucking Christ, you’re big.” 

“You got a mouth on you.” 

“You’d really know what kind of mouth I had if you’d have let me suck your dick earlier,” he gripes, but it’s half hearted and Bucky knows he isn’t too upset about it by the way his hole keeps clenching down around him.

“I said later.” Bucky pulls his hips back and snaps them foreword. When Steve’s hands come up to grip his shoulders, heels digging into Bucky’s ass, he does it again, harder. 

Bucky shifts his knees to get more leverage, trying to find the right angle, knows he found it when Steve sucks in a breath, nails digging into his shoulders, hips matching Bucky’s rhythm. “Right there, huh?” 

“Yeah, I—I need to—can I—”

“What?” 

“My dick. Touch it or let me touch it. I don’t care which.” 

Bucky’s sits back, cupping a hand under Steve’s ass to keep him at the right angle. “Go ahead,” Bucky says, picking up one of Steve’s hands where they’d fallen to the bed. He wraps both their hands around Steve cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts, and it doesn’t take long before Steve is coming over their fists on a drawn out moan. The way his hole tightened even further around Bucky’s dick had him coming, thrusting through his own orgasm. Catching himself on his hand, Bucky falls forward until his head is pressed against Steve’s sternum. Both of them try to catch their breath. 

“Fuck,” Bucky says, letting go of Steve’s spent cock, needing both arms to hold him up. 

“Yup.” Steve sounds wrecked, laying limp against the mattress. 

Bucky pulls out of Steve as gently as he can, taking the condom off and tying it. He heads to the bathroom, tosses the condom and washes his hands before finding a washcloth and wetting it in the sink. Back in the bedroom, Bucky wipes the come off Steve’s hand and as much of the lube as he can off his ass. Feeling uncharacteristically sweet, Bucky presses a soft kiss to Steve’s forehead. “You said there was food?” 

“Fridge,” Steve mumbles but doesn’t move.

Bucky piles leftovers on two plates, heating them up in the microwave. He hears Steve get up and pad to the bathroom. When he walks back in the bedroom, Steve is sitting up against the headboard under the covers. “You should never wear clothes,” he tells Bucky when Bucky hands him a plate. 

Bucky raises a brow, sliding under the covers on the other side of the bed with his own plate and tucks into his food. He’s not sure what it is, but it tastes good. Steve turns the TV on to a random channel, volume low. When Steve leans his head against Bucky’s shoulder he pauses for a moment before he finishes eating. 

When he’s done, Bucky sets his plate on the nightstand and looks down to find Steve picking at the food on the plate in his lap. “You done?” 

“Mhmm.” 

Bucky takes his plate and sets it aside. Steve lifts his head up and when Bucky shifts and grabs the second condom. He throws the covers back and arranged Steve in his lap before rolling the condom over his erection. He finds the lube buried in the covers, but when Bucky curls a hand around to Steve’s hole, Bucky finds him a still a little wet and loose enough to take three fingers. Bucky fingers himwhile Steve groans and pushes his hips back, fucking himself on Bucky’s fingers. “Gimme your hand.” 

It takes a minute for Steve to register Bucky’s words, but he holds out his hand and Bucky squeezes lube into his palm. “Get me ready, baby.” 

The endearment slips off his tongue too easily, but Steve either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because all he does is wrap his hand around Bucky’s dick, smearing the lube over it. When he’s done, he wipes his hand off on the sheets, looking at Bucky with heavy lidded eyes. Bucky slips his fingers out, replacing them with the head of his dick. Steve tries to press down onto his length, but Bucky stops him with a hand on his hip. He grabs a fistful of Steve’s hair with his other hand. “No topping from the bottom, baby.” 

Bucky slowly lowers Steve until his ass is resting in his lap. Slides the hand on his hip around to his ass, running a finger along where they’re joined, feeling how Steve’s hole is stretched around his dick. Bucky sets his teeth to the vulnerable line of Steve’s throat, sinking his teeth in just enough to leave a mark. Moving his mouth up to Steve’s ear Bucky says, “Wasn’t being over confident, was I?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = ❤️ 
> 
> Thank you for all the love on this fic.


	6. There’s Cracks in Your Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this seems like two updates in a day, but to my went to sleep at noon, woke up at 4:30pm ass this is a totally different day. 
> 
> Enjoy! ❤️

Bucky left Steve curled up sleeping in his bed, a slight lump under the covers, face hidden in his pillow. Dropped the dishes in the sink and found Steve’s keys on the coffee table. He worked it off the ring, locked the door behind him, grabbed an envelope from his apartment to put the key in, and slid it under Steve’s door. Then Bucky stripped his clothes off and tried to get a few hours of sleep. 

His phone ringing woke him up when it was still dark outside. He grabs it off the floor and flipped it open, holding it to his ear without opening his eyes. “What?” 

“Exfil.” 

Bucky is up out of bed, phone held to his ear with his shoulder, and pulling his pants on before Natasha finishes saying the word. He puts his shirt on while he pads barefoot to the living room. He tosses his duffle on the couch. “What happened?” 

“They had someone watching you. I don’t know what happened.” The judgement is clear in her tone, the What-the-fuck-did-you-do, but she doesn’t waste time asking for details. Alerting him is putting her in enough danger and they need to keep it brief. “I just found out there’s a team on the way.” 

“I’ll contact you when I can.” He doesn’t say goodbye, just snaps the phone in half and once his boots are on, he crushes it to bits. Son of a bitch. He’d been so goddamn preoccupied with shoving his dick in Steve that he hadn’t been thinking. Those fucking blinds, the ones he’d been silently berating Steve for leaving open all the time, the ones that had let Bucky spy on Steve, had let someone spy on  _ him _ . Them. Together. 

He was allowed to fuck whoever he wanted whenever he wanted. It wasn’t the fact that Bucky had sex with someone. But paired with not accepting the job and the changes in his behavior, it would look suspicious and his handlers were more paranoid than he was. He never interacted with his neighbors. He never stayed with any of his sexual partners for longer than it took him to fill a condom and he’d been all but fucking  _ cuddling  _ with Steve last night, sharing a meal in bed while they watched tv. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what that would have looked like to the underling watching him and those they were reporting back to. If there was a team being dispatched, explanation was off the table. If he didn’t want to end up like Rumlow, he needed to disappear. 

Bucky puts his laptop case in his duffle, straps a holster to his waist, slides knives into the sheaths built into his boots, switchblade in his pocket. He’s packing up the rest of his weapons and double checking that his rifle is securely packed when his hands still. 

Steve. They knew about Steve and if he disappeared, the team would go after Steve. If he wasn’t dead by the time they figured out he didn’t know anything, he would be after. He bites off a curse and grabs his clothes from the bedroom to shove in the duffle. All his forged documents go in the shredder because those identities are burned. He takes the cash, leaves his other burners. 

The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon when Bucky puts his leather jacket on and slugs his duffle over his shoulder, handle of his rifle case clutched in his hand. He leaves the apartment unlocked, keys on the coffee table, because he doesn’t give a shit about anything in there. He does pocket the keys for the clunker he bought when he got to New York because he’ll need wheels to get to his next destination until he can ditch it for something clean. 

He has to pound on Steve’s door for five minutes before he pulls it open, wearing that damn silk robe and rubbing bleary eyes. His voice is sleep rough when he asks, “How did you get out with the door locked?” 

Bucky pushes past him and picks up the envelope with the key inside, handing it to him. Steve blinks at it, clearly still half asleep, opening it to pull his key out. “Huh, good trick.”

Bucky dumps his stuff by the couch and closes the blinds in the living room and heads to the bedroom to do the same. Steve follows him. “Are you going somewhere? What are you doing?” 

“Pack a bag, we need to leave.” 

“What?” 

“Steve.” He imbues as much authority into his voice as he can. He doesn’t know how much time they have. Nat had said she just found out about the team when she called, but who knew how much of a head start they had. “Pack a bag.” 

Steve doesn’t listen, crossing his arms across his chest, looking unconcerned. And a little like he thinks Bucky is crazy. “Why?” 

Bucky is crazy. He doesn’t have time for this; he should already be half a state away. Steve isn’t his damn responsibility, except that he is. Bucky made him that when he got involved. He goes to stand in front of Steve and grips his chin, tries to impart the seriousness of the situation. “There are people coming after me and when they can’t find me, they’ll come after you.” 

“Why would they be after me?” Steve’s eyes widen slightly, his tone conveying his confusion and incredulity. He can’t imagine a scenario where he’s important enough to become a target like that. Bucky is about to give him one. 

“Because I fucked up, Steve.” It’s hard to make the admission. He can count on one hand the number of mistakes he’s made in his life, but none of them had been as colossal a fuck up as this, even the one that landed him under Hydra’s thumb. He had been a stupid, desperate kid then who let himself be manipulated. He didn’t have that excuse now. “I’m going to protect you, but I can’t do that if you don’t come with me.” 

There’s a furrow between Steve’s brows that Bucky wants to smooth away, but he doesn’t have the luxury of being able to coddle him. Even the time they’re standing here, letting Steve decide, is time they don’t have. Finally, Steve nods as much as he can with Bucky still holding his chin, and Bucky presses a quick kiss to his lips before releasing him and giving him a gentle nudge toward the closet. “Take anything you can’t leave behind, but make sure it fits in one bag. And I don’t know where we’re going so pack for different climates.” 

Steve looks a bit dazed, but he tosses a gym bag on the bed and starts to get dressed. Bucky leaves him to it and goes back into the main part of the apartment to raid the kitchen for anything non perishable since he doesn’t know when they’ll be able to stop for food and he makes coffee, filling two travel mugs when it’s done brewing, pouring cream into Steve’s. He’s finishing up when Steve walks out wearing some kind of leggings, a hoodie that dwarfs his frame, and sneakers. His phone is in his hand and Bucky tells him to leave it. Steve opened his mouth to argue—Bucky is starting to recognize the stubborn set to his jaw—so Bucky says, “They’ll be able to trace it. We’ll get you another one later.” 

Steve looks only slightly mollified by the coffee Bucky hands him after he sets his phone down. Steve walks over to one of the bookcases, pulls one of the photos out of it’s frame and slips it into his bag along with an envelope he pulls out of a book. Bucky doesn’t ask about it, but Steve catches his eyes and says, “It was from my mom.” He zips his bag up after tucking the letter inside and faces Bucky, travel mug clutched between his hands. “I’m ready.” 

“Where’s your wallet?” Steve opens his bag back up to pull it out, frowning. The frown intensifies when Bucky takes the cash out and hands it to him, tossing the wallet on the couch. “What about my ID?” 

“We’ll get you a new one of those, too. I know a lady. Come on.” Bucky grabs his own bags and heads for the door. Steve follows, but he’s grumpy when he locks his door, following Bucky down the back stairs and out to his car.

Bucky loads their bags into the trunk, sliding his rifle case in first. Steve seems to notice it for the first time, speaking around a yawn. “You get to bring your guitar and I couldn’t even bring my yoga mat?” 

“It’s not a guitar,” Bucky says, shutting the trunk. He didn’t give a shit about Steve’s yoga mat, but he would miss what Steve did while using it. He rounds the car for the driver’s seat. “Get it.” 

Steve climbs into the passenger seat, looking around the interior in curiosity. Holding his mug between his thighs since there’s one cup holder, Steve puts his seatbelt on. “So where’s this new ID making lady live?” 

“Jersey,” Bucky says, pulling out of the lot and getting on the road. He has no delusion that whoever had been watching him last night sees them leaving and keeps an eye out for a tail. 

The look of disgust on Steve’s face at the news that they’re going to New Jersey is one only a New York native is capable of. 

* * *

It takes a few hours to get where they’re going and when Jessica Jones opens the door, there’s a glass of whiskey in her hand even though it’s not even ten and her usual belligerent expression is firmly in place. “Oh. It’s you.” Her eyes drift to Steve, who waves. She rolls her eyes, gesturing with her glass when she turns away. “Come on in.” 

She settles behind her desk and props her feet on the top. “What can I do for you?” The way she asks the question makes it clear she doesn’t give a shit what he needs, but she’ll do it as long as he pays her. 

“Passports, IDs, social security cards, birth certificates. And I need it yesterday.” 

“Jesus, you don’t ask for much do you, asshole,” she says, grabbing the bottle off her desk to top off her glass. “I can rush it, but it’ll cost ya because believe it or not, I’m not at your beck and call.” 

He drops a roll of hundreds in front of her. He can see Steve’s eyes widen in his peripheral. “Consider that a down payment. They need to be good, Jones.” 

“Fuck you. All my work is good.” She sneers at him, takes a healthy swallow of her whiskey and sets the glass down. Booted feet hit the floor with a thud and she grabs the cash, quickly counting it. Her mouth thins, but she shoves the money in a draw and stands to grab a camera. “They’ll be ready tomorrow. Need pictures before you leave.” 

Bucky nods and stands where she tells to in front of a white wall. She snaps his picture then repeats the process with Steve who looks a bit shell-shocked. Jones swaps the camera for her glass, dropping back down onto the desk chair and moving the mouse of her computer around with her free hand. She looks at him out of the corner of her eyes. “Not that I care, but why aren’t your bosses providing you with this documentation?” 

She puts stress on the word ‘bosses’, eyes flicking to Steve, and Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder, steering him to the door. If Steve hadn’t needed to get his picture taken, he’d have left him in the damn car. “We’re no longer affiliated,” he tells Jones. 

Before the door closes behind them she yells, “If you led anyone to my door, I’ll fucking kill you and your little dog.”

It’s not an idle threat. Steve swallows hard, turning his head to look up at Bucky as the walk down the stairs, hands shoved into the pocket of his hoodie. “Interesting friend you have there.” 

“She’s not a friend.” It’s the only information he gives him. He unlocks the car and gets in. Steve climbs in on the other side. 

“What now?” He’s trying not to show how freaked out he is and Bucky is impressed. He’s a twenty-one year old who’s biggest worry when he woke up this morning was whether or not the guy he’d fucked last night would be there and how awkward it would be if he was. 

“New car, phones, place to stay tonight.” 

Steve bites his lip, while Bucky pulls into shitty Jersey traffic. When they’re stopped at a light, he finally asks, “Any chance we can add food to the list?” 

Bucky reaches over to pop the glove compartment open and hands Steve a ball cap, grabbing one for himself. He snaps the compartment closed just as the light turns green. Steve gives the hat a dubious look before sliding it on his head backwards. Bucky scowls at him. “Other way. It’s supposed to help hide your face.” 

Steve makes a face, but turns the hat around. “Is this the best disguise a super, secret spy can come up with?” 

“I’m not a spy.” 

“Okay.” He draws the word out like he clearly does not believe Bucky. 

Bucky breathes out slowly, reminding himself that Steve hadn’t asked for any of this. “We’ll stop somewhere.” 

Steve beams at him. He looks so damn young between the hat and the hoodie and how small he is that Bucky’s hands tighten around the wheel. He drives around for a while until he finds a car parked outside a house with a For Sale sign and pulls up behind it. Bucky only has to walk around the car a few times before a balding guy with a paunch, wearing a wife beater comes outside. Bucky talks him down to three hundred and the guy doesn’t talk about transferring titles or even ask his name. Once the guy is back inside Bucky holds the keys up to Steve. “You know how to drive?” 

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Bucky hands him the keys. “Follow me. We have to ditch the other car.” 

Steve gets behind the wheel of the beat up white Civic and follows Bucky until he finds an abandoned warehouse to park the other car behind and he gets out, tossing the keys in the driver’s seat. It’ll be gone inside of an hour, probably spread over four different chop shops. He transfers their bags to the trunk of the Civic and opens the driver’s side door. Steve doesn’t move. Bucky stares him down until Steve releases the seat belt and climbs over the console into the passenger seat. Bucky gets in, but doesn’t drive off right away. He reaches out to cup the back of Steve’s head and pulls him into a kiss. When he lets Steve go, Steve’s hat is askew, lips swollen and cheeks red from his stubble that is now verging into beard territory. 

“What was that for?” 

I will not let anyone touch you, he thinks but doesn’t say. Bucky shakes his head and puts the car in gear. They need phones, he needs to text Natasha, and he needs a solid plan for where they’re going after they get their documents from Jones. Because he can’t fly off half cocked when Steve’s life is in his hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way the chapters are titled will change based upon the mood. This chapter’s title is from I Know Your Secrets by Katie Garfield which is the same song the work title comes from. This whole fic is inspired by her songs tbh 
> 
> Kudos and comments are so, so good. Y’all are seriously making me smile (and cry a bit). ❤️


	7. Looking Over Your Shoulder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D 
> 
> Comments and kudos are the beeeeeeestest! I love you all. ❤️

Bucky found a motel far enough away from the highway that he felt comfortable enough stopping at and pulled into a spot. Steve was eating hash browns out of the Dunkin’ Donuts bag in his lap making little contented noises that were going straight to his dick. He was in so much fucking trouble. On top of getting Bucky to stop for food after he bought a bunch of prepaid phones, there was a box of doughnuts in the backseat and a drink carrier with coffee and something called a Coolatta that Steve begged him to get. “Stay here, I’m gonna get us a room.” 

It took some convincing to get the guy behind the counter to agree to give Bucky a room without ID or a credit card, but the extra money he slipped him did the trick. Even got a room around the back like he wanted. He took the keycard without a word and went back out to the car. 

When he was back behind the wheel, door shut behind him, Steve is holding out a hash brown. Bucky stares at it, contemplating, before leaning over and eating it right out of Steve’s hand. He keeps eye contact while he swirls his tongue around Steve’s index finger and thumb, then pulls back with the round of fried potato between his teeth. He puts the car in gear while he chews and pulled around to the back of the building. Steve is quiet next to him. Bucky can feel Steve’s eyes on the side of his head, but he doesn’t turn to look at him. 

Bucky gets their bags out of the trunk, along with his rifle case, and Steve grabs the food and drinks. The room isn’t as bad as he feared. It smells a bit like bleach, but he’ll take that over stale smoke and body odor. All in all, he’s stayed in worse places. He slides his rifle under the one bed in the room and drops both their bags on top of the coverlet. He can hear Steve behind him putting the stuff he’s carrying down on the table in the corner by the window.He shuts the curtains then Steve is there, pulling on the lapels of his leather jacket to kiss him. He lets it go on for a moment, let’s Steve press their bodies together, run his tongue along Bucky’s lips, before grabbing a handful of hair and pulling Steve’s head back. “Didn’t we talk about this?” 

“Oh, come on. You can’t do what you did in the car and not expect me to jump you,” Steve says like it’s an obvious reaction to having your fingers sucked. 

Bucky cocks a brow. “That’s all it takes to get you going?” 

“When it’s you, apparently,” Steve says, sounding grouchy. 

Bucky lets go, steps back. “I have some phone calls to make, but if you’re patient, I’ll fuck you later after I get lube and condoms.” 

“Don’t bother.” At Bucky’s frown, he says, “There’s some in my bag.” 

His frown deepens. “I tell you to bring what you can’t leave behind and that’s what you take?”

“Have you seen yourself? Besides, now we don’t need to buy any.” Bucky rolls his eyes. Steve grabs the Dunkin’ Donuts bag and the Coolatta, sitting on the opposite side of the bed from where the bags are. He pointedly does not look at, Bucky as he grabs the remote, turns on the tv, and pulls his bagel out of the brown paper bag. Shaking his head, Bucky picks up the plastic bag with the prepaid phones in them and head back out to the car. 

He sets two of the phones up right away and uses one to text Natasha a coded string of numbers with the number for the other phone hidden in it and takes the SIM card out of the first phone. The second phone rings three times from an unknown number and stops. Rings twice more from the same number and stops. When it starts ringing the third time, Bucky answers. “What can you tell me?” 

“I know who they’re sending and it’s not good.” She sounds grim. He lets his eyes drift shut and drops his head back against the seat. 

“Who?” 

“Nobu, Batroc and Alvarez.” Not great, but it could be worse. He could handle them if he had to, but he might not come out the other end without some damage if he took them on all at once. “But the Ghost was also dispatched. Operating alone. Still don’t know they’re points of origin. Be careful.” 

The line goes dead and he bites off a curse. The Ghost was as good as he was at stealth. Maybe better as much as it pained him to admit. No one knew what she looked like, only that she was good with a blade and could slit your throat before you even knew she was in the room. He banged his head on the headrest and stared up at the roof. Shit just went from bad to worse. 

Bucky rubs a hand down his face, sighs, then grabs another phone. Once it’s set up, he dials a number he knows by heart. When the answering machine clicks on, he says simply, “Johnny, I need a clean place to stay. Can you make a recommendation?” and hangs up. The person on the other end will know it’s him by the phrase he’d used. He’ll either get a call back or he won’t, but it’s his best option for a safe house. None of the one’s he’s used previously are places he can revisit. Too big of a chance of Hydra knowing their location. He still has Natasha on the inside, though there’s only so much he’s willing to ask her to do—he won’t put her in danger and if his handlers realize he’s got advance warning about the operatives they sent after him? Natasha is one of the first places they’ll look since they have history. But he’s more thankful than ever that he always planned to need to disappear one day and made contacts outside of the organization. 

He packs the burners he’s still using up in the bag. The one he took the SIM card out of? Well, if he drops it and stomps it into the pavement, he doesn’t think anyone would blame him. 

* * *

Back inside the room, Steve is curled up under the covers, stifling a yawn. Some crap talk show is on the TV. Steve looks at him, but his eyes go right back to the tv. Bucky throws his leather jacket over one of the chairs and grabs a change of clothes out of his bag. “I’m gonna take a shower.” 

Steve makes a sleepy noise, but otherwise doesn’t move so Bucky heads into the bathroom and keeps the door open. Clean clothes on the counter, Bucky reaches a hand behind him and strips his t-shirt off and drops it on the floor. Gun on top of the toilet tank, laces on his boots loosened and toed off. Jeans join the shirt on the floor. He doesn’t wait for the water to warm up, just climbs in and uses whatever free stuff the motel stocked. He’s in and out in five minutes. The worst fucking thing is being caught unaware when you’re naked. 

He dries off his body with quick, efficient swipes of the towel and puts his jeans on before he towels off his hair, pulls his shirt on. He picks his clothes and boots off the floor. When he walks out, Steve is asleep, lips parted, breathing slow and even. 

Everything is going to be harder dragging Steve along behind him. Steve was soft and used to a normal life. If he was smart, he’d get in the car and leave him here, but he wasn’t smart—not any more—because dropped his boots by the bed within easy reach for the knives still hidden in them, folded his clothes and put them in his duffle before putting both of the bags on the floor. Then he slid under the covers, tucked his gun under his pillow, and drifted off into a light sleep. 

* * *

When Bucky wakes up a few hours later, he rolls onto his side. Steve hasn’t moved; sleeps like the dead, apparently, and that thought didn’t sit well. He shifts closer, sliding his hand over Steve’s side to his belly. The gentle rise and fall of Steve’s chest settles him and he rests his forehead between the smaller man’s shoulders. He feels so small like this and Bucky shuts his eyes, dragging Steve tighter against his body. 

Either the movement or his touch or maybe his breath brushing Steve’s skin causes him to stir, wiggling against Bucky, groan muffled by his pillow. The wiggling grinds his ass against Bucky’s dick which was suddenly very interested in getting inside Steve. He rolls his hips, making Steve groan again, head lolling. His voice is husky from sleep when he says, “I’m not awake.”

“If you’re talking, you’re awake,” he murmurs in Steve’s ear, getting an inordinate amount of pleasure from the shiver that runs down the other man’s spine. 

“I could be sleep talking.” He doesn’t move away. If anything, he moves closer. 

Bucky runs the tip of his nose along the shell of Steve’s ear, followed by his tongue. Tosses the sheets to the end of the bed. Bucky keeps his voice low, letting his breath brush against Steve’s skin. “You won’t even have to do anything.” 

“Mmm, that sounds good.” 

“Come on, roll over for me.” Bucky’s hand curl s over Steve’s hip, urging him to move onto his stomach, but he grumbled. 

“You said I didn’t have to do anything.” 

“Keep bitching like that and I won’t let you come,” he says, nipping at Steve’s neck. It was an empty threat and it was a show of how low he’d sunk that Steve seemed to know it because he chuckled, pressing his ass more firmly against the erection pressing against the fly of Bucky’s jeans. 

“You could try.” 

“What?” He pushes up on his elbow. Steve was peeking at him through the hair falling over his forehead. 

“You could  _ try  _ to to not make me come.” 

Bucky turns the lamp on behind him and tilts his head, considering. Was Steve actually asking to be edged while he wasn’t even fully awake? Bucky might have shaky morals—he was a hit man for a shady international organization—but he wasn’t such an asshole that he’d take advantage of someone in bed. He didn’t want to pass up this opportunity, though. When was he going to get another? Finally he says, “Roll over like a good boy and I will.” 

Steve doesn’t so much roll as flop, but he was lying on his stomach when Bucky got up to get the lube and a condom, dropping them on the bed. He didn’t have multiple rounds in him this time. Especially not if Steve really wanted what Bucky thought he did. He just needed to tread carefully. He could still do with an hour or so of sleep. He would prefer they get back on the road before dark. 

He straddled Steve’s legs and pushed his hoodie up past his waist. Fingers hooked around the waistband of Steve’s leggings and with a firm tug, got them around Steve’s thighs. He wasn’t wearing underwear. He molded the cheeks of Steve’s ass in his hands, squeezing, feeling the softness of his skin, before spreading them apart. Steve sighed and pushed up into his hold. It wasn’t something Bucky ever thought he would say, but as much as Bucky enjoyed anal sex with men and women, he’d never thought that part of a person was pretty. Steve was just pretty all over. All pink and smooth. He lifts one hand to grab the bottle of lube, using the thumb of the other hand to pet the whorl of skin. 

When he applies light pressure, Steve’s hips stutter against the mattress. Bucky lifts his hand away and swats his right cheek, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to get his attention. “Stay still.” 

“But it feels good, Buck.” Jesus fucking Christ, the way Steve said his name. 

“I’ve barely touched you.” 

“I guess you have magic hands then.” He chuckles, sounding almost drunk with the sleep still clearing. “That’s to say nothing of your dick.” 

“You don’t listen to me, you won’t get it.” That wasn’t as empty a threat as not letting him come had been. There were plenty of ways for him to get off without fucking Steve. He spread him with one hand, using the other to pour lube down his crack, over his hole. Steve gasped, raising his hips up when swirled two fingers in the mess, barely pressing in. “Still not listening.” 

“Like you’re not gonn fuck me,” Steve scoffed, sounding so sure of himself and more awake than he had been a moment ago. “I can feel how hard you are.” 

“I am. This pretty hole of yours is just begging to be fucked.” He emphasized the point by pressing the tips of his fingers past his rim. Steve muffled his moans by burying his face on the pillow so Bucky fisted his hand in Steve’s hair and pulled his head up. He kept the shallow thrust of his fingers going while he talked, taunted. He was even tighter with the way his thighs were pressed together. “But I could just slide my cock right between your cheeks and come all over you. Press you down so you can’t get any friction against the sheets. Do you want me to do that?” 

“No, you jerk.” He grunted when Bucky presses his fingers in further on his next thrust. “I’ve been trying to get you to fuck me since this morning.” 

“For someone who said they were okay bottoming you sure are bossy,” he teased. 

“For someone who said they were a top, you sure do spend a lot of time not fucking me,” Steve bitched. And Bucky laughed. He couldn’t ever remembered laughing during sex before. When Bucky let go of Steve’s hair, his face hit the pillow with a soft  _ oomph _ , and he turned his head to the side just in time for Bucky to hear the noise Steve makes when Bucky abruptly pulls him up to his knees at full volume. And the way he whines when Bucky licks his hole. He tastes like lube, but it’s not bad and Bucky keeps flicking his tongue over the rim of Steve’s hole, pushing inside it, because Steve starts to sound more and more desperate. The second Steve starts jumping his face, he pulls away, replaces his tongue with two fingers, which slide in easily, even more so when he dribbles more lube over his fingers, pushing it inside, scissoring the digits until Steve is open enough for another finger. 

He really would like to see Steve taking his fist, he thinks, staring intently at the way Steve is stretched just from three of his fingers. Leaning down, he runs his tongue along that stretched skin, and Steve’s legs start to shake, sounding choked. What had the men Steve fucked before done because he seemed surprised at half the shit Bucky was doing. Then again, Bucky had gotten a look at Rumlow’s junk before he sliced his balls off and he hadn’t had much going on. 

Steve’s hips jerked once, involuntarily when Bucky grazed his prostate—mean trick, but he rarely played fair—Bucky pulled his fingers free, reaching around to wrap Steve’s erection in a tight grip. “Goddamn it, Bucky.” 

“Want me to stop?” 

“Hell, no,” 

“The hush until you do.” He gave Steve a stroke then released him. Condom on, Bucky lined up to Steve’s opening. One arm braced against the mattress, Bucky leaned over enough to almost press their cheeks together. “You ready for my dick, baby?” 

“Yes,” he says, the word tapering off in a moan when Bucky pressed in, slow it steady, until his hips met Steve’s ass. 

Steve was panting, mumbling into the pillow. Bucky lifts his head up. “What was that?” 

“I don’t think I’m ever gonna get used to that.” 

“What?” Bucky drew his hips back as much as he could, snapping them forward at the same time he asked, “This?” 

The angle must have been good because Steve sobbed, hands fisting in the sheets. He hadn’t even been trying to do that. “Remember, don’t move until you want to come, baby.” 

“Screw you,” Steve said, but he stayed as still as he could for an impressive amount of time while Bucky fucked him into the mattress. When he finally broke, pushing back to meet Bucky’s thrust, he wrapped a hand around his own dick and came all over the cheap hotel sheets. Bucky pulled him up, so Steve was sitting in his lap, clutching Steve’s lax body to his chest, and came with a grunt, the aftershocks from Steve’s orgasm milking him dry. 

He shuffled to the side and rolled them both onto their sides. He gave no fucks about the fact that he tossed the tied off condom on the ground before pulling the cover from the foot of the bed with his foot. He made sure his gun was still where he left it and closed his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I put food I’m craving in my docs. DD in this one, IHOP in another. I think Chipotle and Wawa (if I have anyone end up in the southern Pa/NJ area) are next 😂 
> 
> So, yeah porn. Next chapter has more violence. And I shouldn’t be looking forward to writing that so much. 
> 
> P.S. I will be going back to work next week (insert story about how my boss fired me to hire his friend, then quit, so my friend is not store manager and hired me back lolz) plus school starts in a few weeks (💀) and I don’t know how much I’ll be working so time between updates might get longer. Just an FYI.


	8. Stand and Watch the Motion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a break from my Stony Bingo prompts (there’s still a few I want to write) so here’s an update lol 
> 
> Speaking of prompts, y’all can send me some on Tumblr if you want. It might take me a bit to get to them, but I’ll write it eventually. ❤️ @dyslexicsquirrel

One moment he was asleep, the next he wasn’t. Years of training had him remaining still, eyes closed, breathing deep and even. He couldn’t detect any change in the room now, no sounds that shouldn’t be there, no extra light from the door opening, but he knew someone was there. 

His suspicions were confirmed a moment later when tough hands grabbed at him out of the dark to pull him off the bed. Bucky grabbed the gun from under the pillow and threw himself back into the hold, knocking them both to the ground, rolling to his feet. He smiled into the gloom of the room at his assailant’s grunt on the landing, but only for a moment. 

He went still, eyes tracking for any movement. The only light in the room seeped in around the edges of the curtains. He’d give his left nut for night vision goggles and he didn’t know of the other guy had them. Probably did, he thought a moment later when a fist came flying at his face, knocking his head sideways, another hand knocking the gun from his hand. He grabbed the guy’s wrist by his face before he could retract it, trying to wrench him to the side, but a knee nailed Bucky’s side. His teeth clenched, trapping any noise he might have made. 

The sounds of the fight were enough to rouse Steve and Bucky heard him ask in a sleep roughened voice, “Bucky? You okay?” 

Bucky didn’t have a chance to get out a warning to get down, hide, something because a roundhouse kick he wouldn’t have thought there was enough space for in the room landed against his shoulder sending him stumbling into the side table. The lamp hit the floor. That answered one question, though. Definitely Batroc. 

Trying to assess his options, Bucky went into a defensive stance because maybe he could block something. The room flooded with light a moment later gave him the opening he needed. Batroc shouted, pushing the night idiom goggle from his face. Bucky ignored Steve’s scream, the sound of him tumbling to the floor.

His fist connected with the side of Batroc’s head stunning him long enough for Bucky to grab the back of the other man’s head and bring his knee up into his face. There was blood pouring from Batroc’s nose, eyes still squeezed shut. Bucky wound his arm around his neck, constricting his airway, and threw both of them onto the floor. It fucking hurt, Batroc landing with his back against his chest, jarring his side. The knee he’d taken had probably hit his kidney. He might be pissing blood later, but it didn’t matter. The move brought his down right next to his boot on the floor, and with his arm still locked around Batroc’s throat, legs around the other man’s, Bucky reached back, slipped the knife from his boot and pulled up enough on his arm to tip the other man’s head back.

Batroc’s was struggling and one of his fists connected with Bucky’s temple, but it was almost easy to slit the other man’s throat, nicking both of his carotids. He held on while the other man’s struggles slowly slowed, ignoring the warm blood soaking into his t-shirt. With one last wet gurgle and a weak attempt to pull Bucky’s arm off, Batroc stilled. He waited another moment before rolling the man’s body off of him and sitting up. He looked at the blood pooling on the carpet dispassionately and stood. If Batroc was here there was a chance the other two were lurking somewhere. At least neither Nobu nor Alvarez were snipers. He wouldn’t get picked off when he walked off the door. 

Bucky stuffed his feet in his boots and found the gun before walking around the bed to find Steve huddled on the floor against the nightstand and the side of the bed, the sheet tangled around his legs. “Hey,” Bucky said softly, trying not to startle him, but Steve still jumped, eyes flying up to Bucky. 

“Oh my god,” he cried, trying to stand, looking at Bucky in horror. He gripped Steve’s upper arm to help him stand and looked down, seeing the blood covering him. 

“It’s not mine.” Most of it anyway. There was a cut on the side of his head he thought. “Look at me, come on.” He gently urged Steve’s face up to lock eyes with him again. He needed to go find the other two men from Batroc’s team, but he had to secure Steve first. He cupped the smaller man’s cheek to ensure his eyes stayed north of his chest and held up the other hand that held the gun. “Do you know how to use this?” 

When Steve only blinked at him, he repeated the question in a former voice. Steve shook his head as much as he could in Bucky’s hold. “Yeah. Yes. More or less.” 

It would have to be good enough. Taking hold of his upper arm again, Bucky led Steve to the bathroom and pushed him inside. He flicked the safety off.m, checked the clip and chambered a round, then he flipped the gun around so he held the barrel and held it out to Steve. He o lay hesitated a moment before taking it from Bucky. 

“There’s two more men outside somewhere and I need to go find them,” he told Steve, opting for the truth. No room for bullshit, he wasn’t good at flossing over things and making them pretty anyway. “Close the door and lock it. Do not open it for anyone but me and shoot anyone that tries to come in. Do you understand?” 

The gun hung at Steve’s side and he lifted wide blue eyes to Bucky. He looked scared, but he wasn’t losing it so that was something. “There really are people after you.” 

“Did you think I was lying?” He didn’t have fucking time for this. If the other two were waiting for an update from Batroc he would be working with a narrow time frame that was shrinking by the minute. But his feet didn’t move, stayed planted where they were. 

“No, but…” He trailed off, looking past Bucky. “Knowing it and seeing it are two different things.” 

“You’ll be fine,” he said even though Bucky didn’t know if themat was true. “I’ll knock three times to let you know it's me. Try not to shoot me; bullet wounds are a bitch.” 

The sound that came out of Steve’s mouth was almost a laugh, but there was an edge of hysteria trying to work it’s way in and Steve clamped his mouth shut. “Funny. You’re really funny, Bucky.” 

He didn’t tell Steve is wasn’t a joke. What he did do was pull him in for kiss. It was hot and messy and uncoordinated, Steve’s teeth cut Bucky’s lower lip and he sucked on the wound when pulled Steve away with a hand in his hair. Bucky squeezed his neck and nudged him the last few steps into the bathroom. “I’ll knock three times,” he reminded Steve before he shuts the door. Steve’s eyes are solemn when he nods. He probably knows there’s every chance Bucky might not come back, but neither one of them say it out loud. 

* * *

Bucky didn’t remember much of the fight with Nobu. He found the man leaning negligently against the front desk, the man who had checked Bucky in sitting in his chair with a Bo Shuriken sticking out of his chest. Nobu smirked at him when he walked through the door. Idley twirling his Kyoketsu-shoge around by the rope attached to the blade. Bucky has always thought the man was odd for using such antiquated weapons, but he was good with them, Bucky would give him that. The rope on the blade was long and Nobu was fast, but still he kept his distance for now. 

“He must be one good lay for you to risk all this,” Nobu said, stopping the twirling of his weapon and gesturing with the blade. He tsked, taking his elbow off the counter to stand straight m. “Too bad I’ll never find out. Drew the short straw… or I guess Batroc did since I’m assuming he’s dead.” He didn’t sound too broken up about his teammates death, but the didn’t surprise Bucky. Hitmen didn’t tend to for attachments, though he seemed to be proving that untrue between his somewhat odd friendship with Nat and now Steve. Nobu canted forward a bit, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Shades will be finished with your little fuck toy before your body is even cold, I think. There won’t be much left for me.” 

That had been the wrong thing to say, though neither man could have predicted Bucky’s reaction. He surprised himself. Nobu has been trying to get a rise out of him, get him emotional, make him fuck up and let his guard down. Instead, he’d ensured his death. 

He didn’t remember moving and he didn’t feel his injuries until after he came back to his senses kneeling over the other man’s body, panting, one of the knives from his boot sticking out of his chest. From the amount of blood and splatter he’d stabbed him more than once. It was messier than he normally got and Bucky frowned, pulling the blade free with a wet squelch. 

Getting to his feet a bit unsteadily, Bucky pressed his free hand to his side as he pushed through the door and hissed. “Fuck.” 

He pushed all thoughts of injuries aside and jogged back to the room as fast as he could, blood slowly seeping from the cut on his side and few other he was just starting to feel. The door was wide open when he got there, Batroc right where’d left him when he took a quick look around the door, back pressed to the wall outside. Bucky wiped his blade off on his pants, slid it back into his boot, and took the gun out of the holster on his hip. He flicked the safety off and swung around the door, leading with the gun, and sweeping the room with his eyes.

The bathroom door was open, but the room was dead silent. Which… he wasn’t going to lose his shit. Bucky walked slowly, gun up, toward the bathroom. As small as the room was, it didn’t take long and when he reached it, he wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but Alvarez bleeding out all over the tile from a gunshot wound to the neck and Steve sitting in the tub, wide eyed, still holding up the gun, wasn’t it. 

Bucky holstered his weapon after putting the safety back on and approached Steve cautiously. The blood smears on the tile and the shower curtain that had been pulled down and was now partially obscuring Alvarez’s body told Bucky the man hadn’t died right away. 

“Hey, Steve, why don’t you give me the gun?” He raised his hand from his side, slowly. 

Steve jolted, looking around the room without seeming to see anything for a moment before his eyes cleared and he saw Bucky. “I shot him.” 

“I see that. Gimme the gun and let’s get you out of the tub.” 

Steve didn’t move right away, just frowned at him. “You’re covered in blood.” 

“Other guy didn’t go down so easy.” He kept his voice even, edged around Alvarez’s body as well as he could, and gripped the barrel of the gun lowering it a bit so it wasn’t pointed at his chest. “Let me have it.” 

Steve seemed to realize he was still holding the gun and uncurled his fingers letting Bucky take it to tuck it into the back of his pants. With Bucky’s help, he stood in the tub, looking at the dead body on the floor, seeming so small. His legs were bare, leggings having come off in the bed while he slept Bucky supposed, pale sticks coming out of the bottom of his hoodie where it hung to mid thigh. Bucky picked him up and set him down on the bed. “Find your pants we have to go,” he told him and went to check Alvarez’s and then Batroc’s pockets. Their vehicle wouldn’t be too close but, but their phones were in their pockets and might give Bucky some clues as to how they found him. If Jones had sold him out he swore to fucking God…

But it was worse, he found out once he packed his weapons back in his bag and changed out of his blood soaked clothes. He was looking through Alvarez’s phone while he hustled Steve outside to the car, got their stuff into the trunk and opened the car door for Steve since he was just standing there looking dazed. He had a fucking tracker on him somewhere, god fucking damnit. When the fuck…? He’d have to pull over somewhere and get the damn thing out, but right now they needed to put distance between them and this place because there were now four dead bodies someone was going to find soon. 

Steve was halfway in the passenger seat, leggings back on but shoes dangling from his hands, when he jumped back out and headed back to the room with a cry of, “The doughnuts.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, but Steve was back in a few seconds and got into the car without any further prompting, reaching back to put the doughnuts in the backseat. Bucky got behind the wheel, casting a look at Steve while he started the car. He didn’t look too bad, eyes still a bit wide, but his hands were shaking in his lap. Bucky took his jacket off and handed it to him. 

Steve looked at it in confusion. “What’s that for?” 

“You’re shaking. I think you might be going into shock.” 

Steve looked at his hands like he’d never seen them before. “Is that what this is?” 

Bucky’s lips thinned and he draped the coat over Steve’s shoulders, buckling his seatbelt for him. “Just breath and try to get some sleep if you can.” 

Steve nodded, staring straight ahead while Bucky pulled out of the lot. They were a few miles down the road before Steve asked, “Has this ever happened to you?”

“No,” he replied simply and Steve lapsed back into silence. Even when he’d killed for the first time he hadn’t felt anything but relief because the man had been trying to do worse to him. He hadn’t regretted doing the killing and he hadn’t felt bad afterwards because he had already accepted that he was going to do it before he plunged the blade into the man’s stomach. Street kids led hard lives; he had always known he would end up killing or being killed one day. 

The only thing he regretted was that it had put him on Hydra’s radar. Had given them way to reel him in. “We’ll give you purpose. A way to make sure no one can ever try to do to you what that man tried to do ever again.” 

He’d been just desperate and hungry enough to fall for it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I love comments and kudos. They brighten my day and I am having some major anxiety about going back to work. 😩


	9. Don’t You Feel it Coming?

“What are you doing?” 

Steve’s voice floats out of the open car window. He fell asleep in the car as soon as Bucky pulled onto the highway, twitching in his sleep, but it seems like he’s woken up. Bucky spares Steve a glance over his shoulder and goes back to trying to find an angle to get the tracker out. It was gonna hurt like a bitch, but he figures he deserves the pain since he’d been an idiot to not find it in the first place. Hydra would have only had one opportunity to plant it—last year when he’d ended up at one of their facilities after a job went sideways. The intel was shit and he walked into a situation where he was outnumbered. After barely getting out, Nat picked him up, barely alive, and his injuries were more than she could handle on her own. 

Now, he has a fucking bug in his shoulder, under a healed over gunshot wound. He should have goddamn checked. It wasn’t like he trusted Hydra, which was why he never went to them for medical attention unless he had to, but he’d never given them a reason to distrust him. Or he had thought. Maybe they picked up on how much he hated them and not just chalked up his avoidance to paranoia. Or maybe they were trying to tag all of their property. 

Either way, it landed him on the side of some backroad in Bumfuck, New Jersey, still bleeding from the cuts Nobu gave him, crouched down in front of the rear view mirror and digging a knife into his skin. “The organization I work for put a tracker in me,” Bucky tells Steve, sliding the tip of the knife into the scar. “Gotta get it out.” 

“What the fuck?” Steve was suddenly awake, scrambling over the console to look out the driver side window. “You can’t do that yourself!”

“You gonna do it?” He grits his teeth, digging it in deeper, hoping he’s close enough to the bump he’d felt under his left shoulder blade. 

“I could.” 

Bucky pauses, turning to look at him. He looked a bit sick at the idea, but also determined, chin raised. Where’d this punk come from, Bucky wonders. Anyone else would have crumbled under everything Steve had been through, that Bucky had dragged him into. He looked so delicate and fragile on the surface, but there was a will of steel hiding behind those baby blues. Shifting around, Bucky faces Steve and grips his chin with his left hand, resting the knife against his thigh. 

“You sure, baby? It’s fine if you’re not.” 

Steve swallows hard, but hold Bucky’s eyes. “I can do it.” 

Bucky studies him, then nods before standing and moving back so Steve can get out of the car. Steve frowns at Bucky’s bare chest. “You’re bleeding.” 

He shrugs, flipping the knife over to hand it to Steve, turning to face the other direction. “Jesus,” he hears Steve say under his breath. He’d looked worse; this was closer to a paper cut for him—annoying, but it wouldn’t kill him. 

“You can kiss them all better later.” Fucking hell, was he making jokes now? Natasha would be proud. She always said he had the sense of humor of a piece of wood. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve says, snorting. His free hand touches Bucky’s side tentatively. “So, like… where is it?” 

“Left shoulder blade, where the scar is.” 

“You mean, where you were carving a nice  _ new _ scar?” 

“Yup.” 

“You’re ridiculous. Normal people don’t do this.” He could just about hear Steve shaking his head. 

“I’m not normal,” he says, grunting quietly when Steve uses the knife to widen the cut Bucky had been making. 

“Yeah, I think I’m getting that.” It doesn’t sound like Steve thinks it’s a bad thing, but there was frustration underlying the words. When he was done, Steve asked, “Now what?” 

“Take it out.” 

Steve was silent, hands leaving Bucky’s body completely and a part of him misses them—he shoves it down. “With what?” Steve’s voice goes higher at the end. 

“Just reach a finger inside and pull it out. It’s not that deep.” 

“Are you fucking crazy?” Steve appears in front of him, bristling. “I haven’t washed my hands since I got up to pee this morning and I don’t know about you, but I don’t have hand sanitizer.” 

“If there wasn’t a trained assassin who knew exactly where I’m standing right now on our asses, maybe I’d be more concerned about the lack of cleanliness. We’ll pick up supplies later.” 

Steve looks like a kicked puppy for a moment before his expression hardens and he stomps back behind Bucky, muttering about ‘pig-headed jerks’ and ‘wide spectrum antibiotics’. Bucky rolls his eyes. Steve takes a deep breath then Bucky feel one of his small fingers probe the cut. Bucky had dug things, bullets mostly, out of himself before, but having someone else do it was strange. 

“Oh,” Steve exclaims a few seconds later. 

“What?”

“I think I found it. Sorry,” he apologizes. There’s a tug, then Steve pulls his hands away and when Bucky turns around, shifting his shoulder slowly, Steve is holding a tiny piece of plastic up between two bloody fingers. Bucky takes it and chucks it into the woods. 

“Thanks.” 

“You’re still bleeding,” Steve points out. Bucky ignored the comment, grabbing his bloody shirt off the hood of the car and putting it back on, moving slower than normal. 

“Later. Need to pick up the stuff from Jones.” He runs a weary hand over his face. Steve is looking at him blankly when he lowers it to pull the car door open. “Angry, drunk chick.” 

“Oh. Her.” 

“Get in we need to move.” 

* * *

The drive to Jones’ apartment seems interminable. The Ghost would have known he stopped there earlier. Not the exact apartment, but anyone with a passing knowledge of the dark web or hacking would be able to find out that Jessica Jones makes a large chunk of her income forging documents. He’d feel bad about leading them to her door (especially since she’d said not to) if she wasn’t such a bitch. She’d be fine anyway; Jones could take care of herself, plus he didn’t doubt that given the choice she would sell him and Steve out before anything turned ugly for her. He could only hope that the Ghost wasn’t stateside yet and they’d have a head start before being able to get new documents. 

He didn’t know where to go next. His call earlier hadn’t been returned yet. There was one other place he knew of, but it involves leaving the country—which meant ditching his weapons if they had to fly commercial—and Bucky wasn’t sure he’d be let through the door without taking a bullet. One fucking step at a time. 

He forces himself to walk up the stairs to Jones’ door without wincing, but Steve was still giving him worried glances. Broken rib then. Those sucked. He pounds on the door harder than he needs to. 

“What?” She’s half naked, her white tank top doing little to hide her breast and a pair of panties, hair a mess, neck littered with hickies. “Oh, you. Wait here.” 

The door is slammed shut and when she opens is again, a thick Manila envelope hits his chest. He catches it when she lets go, holding her hand out. “Money.” 

“Jessica, darling, are you coming back?” The English accented voice sounded from deeper in the apartment and one of Bucky’s brows twitches up. 

“You still letting that asshole come around?” 

“You don’t judge my life and I don’t judge yours.” Her eyes go to Steve, glaring when they met his again. The silent question is clear and full of judgment: You dragged this cupcake into your bullshit? “Money. Now.” 

He pulls the wad of hundreds from his back pocket, slapping it into her hand and turning away. Before the door closes, he says, “They know I was here. Might want to be careful.” 

His smile is dark and mean when the door slams hard enough to rattle the walls. 

* * *

“Sam Smith? Does she not know any other gay men?” Steve glares at the passport he’d just pulled from the envelope. They were in Pennsylvania now and looking at a very long drive to LA, but he was more concerned with finding a place to stay for the night. When the Ghost tracked them down—and she would because if their positions were reversed he’d find her—he couldn’t be sleep deprived and injured. He was only human and even he could only push himself so far after blood loss. There was a bag of first aid supplies in the backseat Steve had picked up at a store since Bucky’s new shirt was already blood stained. At least the cuts seemed to have stopped bleeding, but broken ribs and bruising, possibly a concussion, left him aching and in a bad mood. 

He didn’t answer Steve, just grunts, looking for a place to stop along the dark backroad they were driving down. Running was a stop gap; he couldn’t run forever and he wouldn’t do that to Steve. He wanted to… shit, he didn’t want to give Steve a reason to leave because Bucky didn’t think he could let him leave. But taking on Hydra? That would take planning and more than just him. He needed what amounted to a fucking army. And a lot of weapons. 

So, LA. Then he didn’t know. He needed to talk to Natasha for more than five seconds. 

“Bucky?” He grunts again, keeping his concentration on the road. “Over there.” 

Bucky looks where Steve was pointed and saw the sign for a Motel 8. Good enough. He turns into the parking lot and pulls into one of the spots reserved for people checking in, but when he reached for the envelope with his new ID in it Steve grabs it out of his hand. At Bucky’s flat look, Steve says. “I’ll go. You look like you just got out of a bar fight. Where’s your cash?” 

Someone ordering him around like this is such a novel experience that Bucky almost cracks a smile. Steve should be scared of him after seeing him murder a man tonight, but he’s not. It was stupid and naive, but Bucky couldn’t manage to to be worried about it. He liked that Steve wasn’t afraid. He pulls out his wallet and hands it to him, watching Steve walk into the motel. 

The younger man is only occasionally visible through the door when he shifts a certain way and it makes Bucky’s fingers itch for his rifle. He stayed tense and on edge until Steve was back in the car. “Lady at the desk said to drive around the back.” 

Bucky nodded and drove to the other side of the building. Steve tried to take his bag out of the trunk, but Bucky didn’t let other people carry his stuff. He’d have to be dead first. Steve opened the door to the room and he followed him inside, setting his stuff down and grabbing a clean pair of boxer briefs and a t-shirt before kicking his boots off and heading to the bathroom. 

“I need to patch you up,” Steve said, trailing behind him with the plastic bag from the drugstore. 

“Shower first.” Bucky set his clothes on the counter, hiding a wince when he pulled his shirt over his head and reopened a few cuts where the cotton had stuck to his skin. Steve made an unhappy noise from the doorway and Bucky looked over his shoulder. “You’re welcome to join me if you’re so worried.” 

“You don’t get to see me naked again until you stop being a dumbass and aren’t half dead,” Steve says rolling his eyes. When Steve turns to walk away, Bucky grabs his arm, pulling him against his chest. The plastic bag hit the floor with a dull thud. Steve lands against him with an ‘oof’, pulling back immediately to put space between them. “Careful.” 

“Something you need to realize.” Bucky waited until Steve was looking up at him to continue. “There’s a chance that I could end up looking worse than this before everything is finished, so if you’re getting squeamish on me now...”

“I’m not squeamish,” Steve snaps, glaring. “I’m worried about you, you big jerk. I don’t like seeing you hurt. What if you’d—”

Bucky cuts him off with a kiss, dirty and hot, controlling the smaller man with a hand in his hair. Steve was panting when he pulled back, cheeks flushed, back pressed against the jamb of the bathroom door. “I’m fine. Besides,” he smirks. “I’m too stubborn to die.” 

“You’re not funny.” 

“I’m hilarious.” He let’s go of Steve and finishes undressing, leaving his clothes in a heap on the tile. He steps in the shower without waiting for it to heat up, curtain cutting off his view of Steve. watching the red tinged water run down the drain while he washes his hair with cheap hotel shampoo. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go. It was one thing to sink himself in the muck, but Steve didn’t belong here with him. Should have let him be, he thinks, scrubbing his skin clean rougher than he should then shutting the water off. 

Too late to feel sorry for yourself or him now, dipshit. You’ve already fucked up his life. What are you gonna do about it now?

He doesn’t know how to answer that question yet. 

After toweling off quickly, Bucky pulls his boxer briefs on, but doesn’t bother with the shirt yet since Steve still needs to cluck over all his boo-boos. Least he can do for Steve is let him fuss. Steve gets off the bed when Bucky drops down on the end of it, pulling the plastic bag closer. Once he’s satisfied that all of the cuts on Bucky’s body are cleaned and bandaged, he holds up a roll of Ace bandage. “What’d you want this for?” 

Bucky takes it and unravels the roll before starting to wrap it around his chest. “I might have broken a rib,” he says, the same way someone else might say, “It’s raining outside.” 

“What the fuck?” 

“Might just be bruised.” He shrugs one shoulder. Batroc had kicked like a damn bull. If it was broken, it wasn’t piercing a lung or one of his other internal organs so he wasn’t all that concerned. 

“Who are you?” 

“Ask me that again later,” he tells him, pulling the t-shirt on and moving to the top of the bed to slide under the covers. His eyes close as soon as his head hits the pillow, but he’s still awake when Steve settles beside him and asks, “You actually gonna answer?” 

“Maybe.” Without opening his eyes. He hooks his arm around Steve and pulls him close so Steve’s head rests on his chest. “I’m doing a lot of shit I never thought I would lately.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Trying to alternate between updating my series so I hopefully don’t get too far behind any of them. I’ve got like two research papers to write this semester and three novels to read for my one class, but I’m trying to still make time to work on my fics. 
> 
> Comments and kudos come with complimentary ghost hugs. ❤️
> 
> Find me on the Tumblr @dyslexicsquirrel


	10. Running from the Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo sorry about how long it’s been since I posted an update. This chapter is a bit longer than the others so hopefully that makes up for it?
> 
> Real life has been crazy and I decided to join a bunch of fandom events (Four, I joined four. Why do I hate myself? Lol) and those are going to be taking up a good chunk of my time over the next few months. I’ll still be working on this and the other two on going works I have, but updates will be slow. 
> 
> But there will be two new Marvel works that I’ll be working on, which I can’t really talk about yet, but be on the look out for those. And I’m jumping into a new fandom for me as far as writing and will be doing two Supernatural events if anyone is into that. :D 
> 
> Anyway, onto the chapter and I hope you enjoy!

Bucky wakes up feeling like he got hit by a truck. He’s been hurt worse, but he’s also felt better. His body is stiff, his injuries ache, and he thinks he might need to stitch up one of the cuts on his side after all because he can feel blood seeping through the bandage. He hates getting injured; it’s inconvenient especially when there’s another assassin on his tail and he’s responsible for someone else. 

Thinking of Steve is what makes him realize what woke him up. He’s definitely far from optimal performance if it took him this long to register Steve’s restless shifting and sounds of distress. He must have rolled away from Bucky because he was facing the wall, almost at the edge of the mattress, twitching in his sleep. 

Biting back a groan, Bucky ignored his discomfort, which he was used to anyway, and sat up. He nudged Steve over into his back. He didn’t wake up, but he did lash out, sunk deep in a nightmare. Even hurt Bucky didn’t have a problem subduing Steve’s panicked movements. The smaller man slapped and scratched and nailed Bucky with his knobby knees a few times before Bucky pressed his hands to the mattress, waiting until consciousness returns and Steve’s eyelids fluttered open. “... Bucky?” 

“Yeah.” Comfort wasn’t something he was versed in so he didn’t try to offer platitudes. He let go of Steve slowly to avoid sudden movements, shifting to the side to sit by Steve’s hip, arms braced on his knees, and waited. 

Steve started shaking like he had in the car after they left their previous hotel, fine tremors working their way through his body, and he lifted his hands to rub his face. When he lowered them, they hit the bed with a dull thud and there was just enough light from outside seeping in past the curtain that Bucky could see that he was staring at the ceiling. After a few more beats of silence, “I shot someone.” 

“You did.” 

“He was going to kill me.” 

He was going to do worse, Bucky thought. He would have made you hope you were dead before finally putting you out of your misery if I’d failed or if you hadn’t gotten in a lucky shot. The thought made his fists clench where they hung between his thighs, made him wish he’d shot Alvarez himself even though the bastard had already been dead. Tilting his chin toward his shoulder so he could look at Steve, Bucky reminded him, “But he didn’t.” 

“No.” Slow blink. “No, he didn’t.” 

Then he rolled up to his knees and Bucky had a lapful of squirmy Steve. Small hands gripped his hair, lips covered his without finesse. Bucky curled his fingers around Steve’s biceps and pulled him back. “What are you doing?” 

“I just…” He swallowed, audible, throat clicking. “I need to feel something else.” 

Bucky stared at him, a sigh and his hands on Steve’s arms the only indication he gave that he didn’t think it was a great idea. He had no room to judge anyone for their unhealthy coping mechanisms, but if Steve regretted it afterwards, blamed Bucky for this whole mess like he should? He didn’t want to risk that, but when Steve said, “Please?” 

Bucky caved because he wasn’t a good man. 

But he already knew that. 

He let go of Steve’s arms and worked his hands inside his pants to grip his ass, squeezing too hard, but Steve only kissed him again and moaned into Bucky’s mouth, rolling his hips, the friction succeeding in driving them both crazy. And Bucky let him, let Steve work himself up while he gripped his cheeks, until he buried his face in Bucky’s neck and groaned in frustration. 

“Make me feel something else,” he pleaded. “Anything. I don’t care, please.” 

“I will, baby.” His voice had gone deeper with desire. He wasn’t as unaffected by Steve’s frantic movements as he would have liked. His erection pressed against the zipper of his jeans, wanting out. To slide into the place where the tips of his fingers touched, to get in deep, feel the heat and tightness close around it. He set Steve aside and stood, though. “I want you naked. I’ll be right back.” 

Steve didn’t question his order, he could hear the younger man pulling his clothes off behind him while he grabbed the bottle of lube and condoms out of Steve’s bag. When he turned back around he had to stop and stare because, goddamn it, he was gorgeous. Maybe he shouldn’t have been, all thin chest and spindly limbs, but it made him look delicate and breakable, made Bucky want to hide him away where no one can find him. Keep him all for himself. 

Bucky also knew there was a strength hiding under that soft, pale skin. Stubborn and reckless, yeah, he wouldn’t be here with him otherwise, but no one who was weak could have pulled the trigger back in that motel bathroom. Maybe it was a testimony to how messed up he was, but it made Bucky even harder. 

Steve was stroking his cock, bottom lip caught between his teeth, staring straight at him. Slowly and deliberately, he spread his legs. An invitation and Bucky took it. He stalked to the bed, dropping the lube and condoms next to Steve’s hip, stripped his shirt off, and grabbed hold of slender ankles, dragging Steve to the end of the mattress. The motion made him lose his hold on his cock, which was fine by him because Bucky didn’t want him coming yet. 

He didn’t give Steve any warning before he swallowed his dick and Steve stuttered a moan, falling back against the bed. Fingers pulled at his hair and Steve’s hips bucked when he laved the underside of his shaft with his tongue as he pulled back, to suck on the tip, curling his hand around the shaft. 

“Oh, God, Buck,” Steve panted, lifting his hips to follow Bucky’s mouth when he removed it completely, jacking his dick, slow but firm. “Why’d you stop?” 

In lieu of answering, he gripped Steve’s waist and stood him up on legs that trembled. Bucky saw Steve frown and open his mouth to speak, but he didn’t get the chance. He turned him around and bent him over the bed, hands trailing from hips to thighs gently, at the same time he kicked Steve’s legs further apart. Steve grunted, a little unsteady, but he formed up his stance and planted his hands against the mattress, before looking at Bucky over his shoulder. He was rewarded with a hand rubbing his lower back and Steve pressed up into the touch. 

“You ever been spanked?”

“What?” Steve asked, sounding distracted, then, “No.” 

Bucky smiled, the expression barely discernible just a slight twitch of his lips. The thumb of one hand ran up and down the valley between his ass cheeks, teasing, sometimes brushing his hole, other times avoiding it all together. “How do you feel about it?” 

Steve groaned and dropped his forehead to the bed. His voice was muffled. “Can’t you just fuck me?” 

“I can.” But Bucky didn’t want it to be over that quick. He didn’t think Steve did either. Bucky could fuck him into the mattress and he’d come, maybe even sleep for a while, but the nightmares would come back until he got over his guilt for wiping a killer off the planet. There wasn’t a shortage of them; Bucky should know. “But I think you’ll like it better this way.” 

He might wind up so tired he slept because there was nothing else his body could do. The room was quiet while Steve mulled. Bucky didn’t stop touching him once. Circled his hole, pushed without entering him, squeezed the swell of his ass. It was a dirty trick, but he’d never been taught to play fair—that got you killed. 

“You’ll stop if I don’t like it?” Steve’s voice was low, tremulous, and Bucky almost missed the question. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched because you didn’t ask that kind of question unless someone  _ hadn’t _ . 

If it was anyone else he might have left it at ‘yes’ and made sure there was no reason for them to want to stop, but he was finding out all over again that Steve was different. Bucky leaned over Steve, the other man feeling so much smaller under him like this, and carded his fingers through soft blond hair, turning his head until he met wide blue eyes. “You say ‘no’ it’s over.” 

Steve must have believed him because he nodded, relaxing so noticeably they sunk further into the mattress. But that wasn’t enough, not for this. “I need you to say you understand.” 

“I do.” His graceful hand, a hand Bucky now knew belonged to an artist, whether he painted now or not he had at one time. He created things and Bucky destroyed them. He hoped he didn’t destroy Steve. “I trust you.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” It slipped out without thought, but it was too late now. “I’m not good for you.” 

“Thanks, but I’ll decide what's good for me.” 

* * *

The first slap of Bucky’s hand against Steve’s ass made Steve jump. He rubbed away the sting then brought his hand down against the other cheek. That got an indrawn breath. That was better, but not what Bucky was after. The pale skin of Steve’s ass was turning a light pink when he heard the first moan, low and bitten off, but there. He molded his hand around one globe of that tight, perfect ass, gripping firmly. Steve sucked in air between his teeth, but also pushed up into Bucky’s hand. 

Steve’s face was pressed against the mattress, chest low, so Bucky couldn’t see his expression. He could hear him, though, reduced to whimpers and moans, humping the bed between swats that made his ass bounce in a way that was almost hypnotic, hands fisted in the sheets. 

“Bucky,” Steve sighed, turning his head to lay his cheek against the bedspread, when Bucky stopped to massage the reddened skin. 

“You want something?” 

“I need to feel you.”  _ Need _ , not want. It made some primal part of Bucky crouch, ready to pounce. 

“You don’t feel this?” The sound of skin against skin was almost drowned out by Steve’s needy whimper. 

When Steve locked Bucky with his gaze, his pupils were blown so wide, there was barely any blue left. His voice near a growl when he said, “Quit teasing. I need your dick in me.” 

That, right there, was what he was waiting for. With as insistent as Steve had been, he was so submissive. Bucky liked being in control, craved it, but he also wanted Steve’s fire. Making Steve demand it, then making him take it the way Bucky wanted him to because it got them both off. 

Bucky lifted his hands and popped the button of his jeans before slowly lowering the zipper. The sound made Steve turn his head. When he started to stand, Bucky places a hand in the center of his back to push him back down. 

“Like this,” he told him softly, eating up the length of his spine with his eyes, the curve of his neck. The way Steve’s breathing picked up had Bucky palming his dick, freeing it from the confines of denim. He gave himself a few strokes before grabbing the lube, smearing a generous amount on his fingers, letting more dribble down Steve’s crack. 

The prep was too slow, because he wanted a different part of his body inside Steve, but too fast, pushing a second then a third finger inside Steve’s hole before he was completely ready, but Steve pressed back onto the digits even as he hissed at the stretch. 

They were both impatient when Bucky withdrew his fingers and reached for the condom. Steve’s hand landing on top of his surprised him, made him pause. He raised a brow at Steve. 

“I’m clean. You?” Bucky narrowed his eyes, but nodded. Steve swallowed hard, but he didn’t break eye contact. “I want to feel everything. But I understand if you don’t—”

Bucky didn’t let him finish. Hand in Steve’s hair, he pulled his head back and then Bucky’s mouth was on his, hard and dirty. He didn’t bother with removing his pants, just coated his dick with the extra lube between Steve’s cheeks, and pressed into him. Bucky bit down on Steve’s lower lip, a groan punching from his lungs at how good it felt to slide into that right hole. 

The rhythm he set was punishing. His fingers in Steve’s hair tightened, mouth trailing down his neck, sucking bruises into the skin. He wrapped his other hand around Steve’s cock, precum and lube easing the slide. When he felt Steve’s release spill over his fingers, Bucky bit his shoulder and thrust in as far as he could, lost in the feelings of Steve clenching around him as he came in his ass. 

He hadn’t fucked anyone raw since he was too stupid to know any better. But when Steve whispered, “Thank you” before he drifted off, still bent over the bed with Bucky inside him, he couldn’t regret it. 

* * *

It took two days to reach LA and only because Bucky refused to stop more than twice and only when Steve insisted, bitching about how Bucky needed to sleep eventually and his wounds needed to be checked. Those times, he’d rolled his eyes and refused to comment, but he pulled off at the first exit he saw with a sign for a hotel. Let Steve fuss over him then took him rough while Steve begged for it, until they were both too exhausted to think. 

When Bucky refused to stop, the desire to put miles between them and anything that was a threat, Steve slept curled up in the backseat. He could be driving right into a threat now, but he was low on options. Nat hadn’t called back, not that he was expecting it, and he hadn’t heard from Fury about a place to lay low. Still a chance he would call but Bucky couldn’t plan that. 

He pulled up into the driveway of a warehouse in Inglewood, put the car in park and waited. Steve frowned, but Bucky just shook his head. It wasn’t long before one of the roll top bay doors opened and a figure dressed in jeans and a black wife beater waved them inside. Bucky didn’t get out until the door had finished closing and told Steve to wait in the car. 

The man who had let them in was leaning against an Audi in the next bay, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place. “Never thought I’d see you again after you tried to kill me.” 

His brown eyes were shrewd, that damn goatee as sharp as ever, dark hair a mess, skin smudged with something that looked like oil. If Bucky didn’t know Tony Stark ran the most powerful crime syndicate on the west coast, he wouldn’t have known from his appearance. 

“If you’re complaining about being alive I can always fix that.”

Tony barked out a laugh. “No thanks. I would like to know why you’re darkening my door, though.” He leaned a bit to the left to see inside the car. “And who  _ that _ is.” 

Bucky shifted to block Tony’s view. “He’s none of your business.” 

“Oh, baby,” Tony purred, straightening. “Everything in this town is my business.” 

Five minutes in Tony’s presence and he was already tired of his bullshit. Despite everything inside him rebelling against the admission, Bucky said, “I need your help.” 

Tony smiled. It wasn’t a nice thing. “I’m listening.” 


End file.
